




The Rights 
of a Man 


By Lysander D. Childs 

' \ 


Published by 

Enquirer Printing and Publishing Co. 
Printers^ Bookmakers, Publishers 
Indianapolis 



Copyright^ 1918 
by 

Enquirer Printing and Publishing Co. 


JAN 25 19 i 9 


(g)Cl.A5ll382 


-^0 \ 


PREFACE 

I AM not unconscious of structural defects in this volume, 
as a work of fiction. But to forestall technical critics it 
might be said, I had a story to tell; not a fiction to create. 
Perhaps Brewerton was your town; Gardner may have been 
your neighbor; maybe Dolly played with your little girl, and 
Batty may have climbed to his attic from the alley in the rear 
of your home. Dr. Morrison may prove an old acquaintance 
with whom you may have sometimes grown impatient. But 
after all, though he may seem too prolix in conversation, I 
wish you to take him seriously, for his is the only remedy for 
the things in the book which may bring a wrench to the heart, 
or a tear to the eye. 

I would be neither human nor truthful, were I to dis- 
claim the wish that the little volume may become one of the 
“best sellers,” but I have a larger wish, and more earnest de- 
sire than that improbability. It is that the book may have an 
understanding reading by every member of every general as- 
sembly of every state in the Union. This desire is not primarily 
to influence legislators to ratify the Federal Amendment, which 
has so large a place in the theme; the business perceptions of 
these intelligent men, and their sense of justice to an on-coming 
posterity are, I am sure, sufficient to cause them to effectuate 
that, the most important national justice since the day of 
Lincoln’s Proclamation of Emancipation. 

What I wish above all else, is to help them to visualize 
clearly, not only the rights of a man who is strong, but also the 
rights of a man, whom Government has permitted to become 
diseased and rduced to helplessness. 

Perhaps, in the light of the evidence which is now being 
extracted from the brewers of the country by the Senatorial 
investigating committee, I am justified in suggesting that this 
story, completed six months ago, simply reveals scenes and 
presents acquaintances familiar to everyone who has felt or 
observed the debauching power of alcohol. It is as essential- 


ly true in every element of its human experience as this evi- 
dence proves true the program of propaganda so, as yet, incom- 
pletely uncovered. 

The action of alcohol as stated, is scientifically accurate. If 
Americans could have been made to believe a century ago that 
alcoholism was a disease, millions of men would have lived 
their normal lives of usefulness, and this generation would have 
resisted the prevailing epidemic of Influenza, with but a small 
percentage of its fearful mortality. Scientific truth depends 
not on a man’s faith; it is mathematically accurate within it- 
self, and it is inexorable. In this volume. Dr. Morrison is the 
exponent of scientific truth. 

The language of some of the characters that live and move 
and speak in the book may be objectionable, even offensive to 
some. If such should be the case, the reader is asked to re- 
member that the author is not responsible for the language of 
these people any more than he is responsible for their char- 
acters. But since he chose to record this chapter in their lives, 
he is responsible for the faithful portrayal of motive and of 
expression ; and that he has faithfully striven to attain. 

The Author. 

St. Petersburg, Florida. 

December 6, 1918. 


Table of Contents 

Page 

CHAPTER I 

David Courtney 7 

CHAPTER II 

A Dangerous Theory 15 

CHAPTER III 

Philip Dornham^ Banker 18 

CHAPTER IV 

The Banker's Son 21 

CHAPTER V 

An Enlightened Doctor 29 

CHAPTER VI 

Augustus Bunch, Brewer 25 

CHAPTER VII 

A Disturbed Boss 38 

CHAPTER VIII 

The Banker's Daughter 45 

CHAPTER IX 

An Insistent Subject 52 

CHAPTER X 

The Fruit of a Dangerous Theory 59 

CHAPTER XI 

A Seat in Congress 64 

CHAPTER XII 

A Social Jolt 70 

CHAPTER XIH 

The Banker Mobilizes His Forces 77 

CHAPTER XIV 

A Courageous Rebel 83 

CHAPTER XV 

The Tragedy of the Ages 86 

CHAPTER XVI 

Dr. Morrison Proves His Theory 92 

CHAPTER XVII 

David Courtney Stands Up 98 


TABLE OF CONTENTS— 


Page 

CHAPTER XVIII 

Courtney Spurns the Banker's Gold 105 

CHAPTER XIX 

Brewer Dornham Presented to Banker Dornham 115 

CHAPTER XX 

A Man, Not a Hireling 123 

CHAPTER XXI 

The Method of the Hun 128 

CHAPTER XXII 

The Banker Becomes a Judas 132 

CHAPTER XXIII 

The Blood Upon the Stones . . 140 

CHAPTER XXIV 

Tightening Coils 147 

CHAPTER XXV 

Hell at Coalfield 155 

CHAPTER XXVI 

David's Pledge to Batty 165 

CHAPTER XXVII 

Debauching the Literati 170 

CHAPTER XXVIII 

Helen Dornham Surrenders 174 

CHAPTER XXIX 

The Lure of the Wine Cup 178 

CHAPTER XXX 

Morrison and Dornham Debate 182 

CHAPTER XXXI 

A Test of Endurance 193 

CHAPTER XXXII 

Murder Without Slip or Trail 198 

CHAPTER XXXIII 

Sancho Saves David's Life 207 

CHAPTER XXXIV 

A Life That Failed 214 

CHAPTER XXXV 

After- Years 221 


The Rights 0/ a Man 

CHAPTER I 

DAVID COURTNEY 

e read the past by the light of the present, 
and the forms vary as the shadows fall, or as the 
point of vision alters/^ 

^^LTHOUGH a young man, David Courtney was 
/ \ known among his friends and intimate acquaintances 
as the “Gentleman of the Old South.” His personal 
tastes were simple; a good tailor to fit his six-foot frame was 
indispensible, but a fortnightly fox chase was indulged in only 
because horse-racing was not sufficiently continuous. Scrupu- 
lously chaste in language, he swore only when other vocabulary 
seemed impotent to express his meaning; and his mint julep 
could be absolutely and perfectly mixed by none other than 
Sancho, the long-time family butler. His capital consisted of 
ability plus the energy for ten hours’ work each day. 

Reared upon his father’s country estate, Mr. Courtney 
had imbibed a certain ruggedness of character usually consid- 
ered a product of the soil, sometimes, perhaps, needing excus- 
ing, but never explaining. When, after graduating from the 
village high school, and completing a year of private tutorage, 
the time arrived for the selection of the college to which he 
should go, his father had inquired as to w’hat he desired. 

“Bob Morrison,” David had replied, “is going to Princeton 
and we have planned to room together.” 

“Where do you propose to make your home after you 
have finished college?” his father had asked. 

Naming the city of his choice with a firmness of decision 
which met parental approval, his father had replied: 


8 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Then choose your college among the people with whom 
you expect to labor and live.’* 

“But you—” 

“I know,” interrupted Colonel Courtney, “and I love 
Princeton, my Alma Mater; but, in my day, we of the South 
had no colleges of standing. If, after your graduation, circum- 
stances are favorable and you wish it — and I trust you will — 
let your degree come from Princeton.” 

But a month after David received his college diploma his 
father had passed into the great, mysterious unknown. Colonel 
Courtney was not a financier; on his native Mississippi River 
valley farm he had lived the life of what has long been known 
in the South as “the country gentleman,” which meant that 
his banker had been lenient. Having a different life purpose, 
David, unconscious, in his own hopes for the future, of the 
chords which were being torn in his mother’s heart, had per- 
suaded her to dispose of the estate. After payment of his 
father’s accumulated liabilities, he found himself facing the 
responsibilities of the future with little but the heritage of 
character unimpeachable, and an unfaltering purpose. 

Just ten years to the day before the beginning of the inci- 
dents recorded in this narrative, assisting his mother over the 
gangway of an upriver steamer, old Sancho, the family butler, 
with the hand luggage and his faithful wife, Cindy, bringing 
up the rear, David, with his mother, had landed in Brewer- 
ton, the city of his adoption. These had not been years of 
ease. The position which David Courtney, counsellor at law, 
had attained among his fellows was self-evident of battles 
fought and won. 

This anniversary was, therefore, but a recurrence of others 
of its kind. To be exact, it was one of those days which oc- 
casionally slip into the calendar of every man to pester him 
with doubts of the future and regrets of the past. Today, 
having failed to observe the falling barometer, David himself 
could not have defined the cause of his mental distemper; but 
the day having worn itself away in plodding weariness, before 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


9 


delving into his final task of reviewing the legal papers laid 
upon his table by his assistant, he stretched his legs by several 
quick turns across the room. 

Stopping at the window of his tenth story office, he no- 
ticed flecks of snow, the first harbingers of winter, fasten 
themselves upon the pane, then disappear, while over the hills 
to the north great slanting, swirling waves deepened the gloom. 
Pressing his face against the glass he felt, in spite of his petulant 
mood, just a touch of that buoyancy which the first flying 
snow had always brought in the years unburdened by cares. 
Then the lights began to twinkle out over the city and pressing 
the electric switch, the night was shut out and he seated himself 
again at his desk. 

The title cover to the topmost document read: 

SIMON JACOBI 
vs. 

JAMES GARDNER. 
“FORECLOSURE OF MORTGAGE.” 

Simon Jacobi was known to Mr. Courtney as the genial 
proprietor of a chain of saloons throughout the city, and famil- 
iarly called by his friends, the “honest Dutchman.” He en- 
joyed the distinction of being “the friend of the boys,” well 
earned as many could testify who had received loans of five 
and ten dollar bills, as Jacobi put it: “Schust to puy der 
kiddies somedings goot to eat,” after the reckless fathers had 
spent and lost the last dime of their week’s earnings in the 
pleasant back parlors of his saloons. If his friends had. good 
collateral, he assured them, “It vas vun real bleasure” to make 
the loan as large as the security would justify. 

And Jacobi was no usurer; if the wheel was running to his 
liking, he would advance full pay without interest on the as- 
signment of next week’s salary check. But, naturally, in all 
his dealings there were derelicts, and regardless of the fact that 
he never permitted a foreclosure of mortgage as long as the 


10 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


interest was paid and the maker continued his customer, there 
were mortgages to be foreclosed. In all this Mr. Courtney 
was not concerned. The business of Jacobi coming to him 
through his client, the Dornham Trust and Banking Company, 
he was interested only in the accuracy of the work of his office. 
But in reviewing this particular document something familiar 
seemed to attract his attention. 

Turning to the mortgage deed, he examined the signature 
and that of the attesting witnesses. The* property was located 
in a respectable residential section of the city, of which he had 
no personal knowledge and he could recall no acquaintance 
bearing the name of the mortgagor. So dismissing the thought 
as only another of the day s vagrant visitors, he laid the paper 
completing the evening’s work aside. 

As he stepped from the office building, the attorney drew 
into his lungs deep draughts of the cool air. The streets and 
houses were fast being wrapped in their mantle of white, and 
the buoyancy of the flying snow filled the hurrying crowds. 
Ah, the gladness of the first snow! As he inhaled the oxygen 
in his lungs, it quickly dispelled the last remnants of his ac- 
quired grouch and the impulse of a saner mind returned. 
Throwing back his broad shoulders, he took on a swinging 
stride for his usual two-mile walk home. 

Passing through that portion of the city where the border- 
land of business pushing out meets the home, on the corner in 
front of him he read the sign: “Last Chance,” and just as he 
was in the act of passing the door over which it hung, a man, 
hurled violently out of the saloon, fell motionless at his feet, 
a stream of blood from a cut on his forehead staining the snow. 

It was no unusual thing in the city of Brewerton to see a 
drunken man prone upon the pavement; neither was it an un- 
common occurrence for men to be ejected from saloons if their 
pockets were empty and the saloon-keeper believed their pres- 
ence lent disrespectability to his place; and sometimes force was 
necessary. For such characters few people possessed as little 
patience as did Mr. Courtney; yet, as he stepped around the 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


11 


man to proceed upon his way, the widening scarlet in the white 
snow caused him to stop. Looking down at the figure for a 
moment half angrily, half pityingly, he lifted the unconscious 
stranger and carried him back into the saloon from which he 
had been so unceremoniously expelled. 

“What’s the meaning of this inhuman treatment?” he de- 
manded. 

“Ayre yez his friend?” inquired Pat O'Connell from be- 
hind the bar. 

“I don’t know the man, but — ” 

“Then I’ll introjooze yez, I will,” said Pat, “and b’ me 
father’s sorrel wheeskers. I’ll tell yez th’ truth, repatin’ t’ yez 
the wurds I just told him. He’s th’ coontimptablist, ornerist, 
sheeftliest liar that ivver crooked a elboo over me mahogany. 
Mate the gintleman!” And Pat bowed low with a wave of 
the hand. 

“But that is no excuse for this sort of treatment.” 

“ ’Twas not for that that he got it, sor,” replied Pat; “it 
was for th’ answer he handed me, both about m’self and me 
boss.” 

“Who is your employer?” inquired Mr. Courtney. 

“ ’Tis Meester Simon Jacobi, sor,” replied Pat; “an’ the 
dead -bate o’ him can’t call me boss names if he is a Dooch- 
man.” 

“But the man is in his cups; you should make allowance 
for his condition.” 

“Aye sor, an’ that’s the trooble with th’ blarsted oopstart; 
he’s put his home in his cups, an’ becoose me boss wants his 
money he wants to be oogly about it.” 

“Who is the man?” inquired Mr. Courtney. 

“Gardner — ^Jeemes Gardner, sor.” 

“James Gardner of Williams street?” inquired the lawyer. 

“Th’ same sor; I see yez recoognizes him b’ me deescreep- 
tion.” 

Perhaps Mr. Courtney could not have explained his act 


12 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


satisfactorily to himself, but the man having regained con- 
sciousness, he called a taxi and accompanied him to his home. 

“Poor James!” 

Perhaps those two words were not much for a wife to say 
at such a time, but their tone, the trembling hands that busied 
themselves to give relief, the gray hair that bent over the scarlet 
wound, and the smothered sob were all new revelations to 
David Courtney. It was a revelation of love and woe which 
he had had no occasion for knowing, and with it there was 
accentuated in his own mind a contempt for the man who 
would grieve that love by bestializing himself. 

“He is not seriously injured. Madam,” he assured Mrs. 
Gardner. 

“You are very kind, sir; I hope he is not,” faltered the 
wife, busying herself with tender ministrations. 

For the first time he took a mental inventory of the room. 
The furnishings, while simple, gave evidence of refinement and 
better days, and inwardly Mr. Courtney railed at the de- 
bauched creature whose weakness had brought this grief. 

“The wound is small,” said Mrs. Gardner, as she washed 
away the blood, “but I am afraid — ” 

Divining the unspoken desire, Courtney wondered why he 
had not before thought of calling Dr. Morrison; and glad of 
the opportunity of imposing a ride this disagreeable night upon 
his altruistic friend, he hurried to say: 

“I trust 5"ou will not consider me impertinent. Madam, but 
I have a friend who is a specialist in such cases, and if you 
will permit me I will call him.” 

It had been many months since James Gardner had received 
kindness at the hands of his fellows, and Mrs. Gardner had 
not failed to see the contempt in w’hich he was held by former 
friends. 

“Then you do consider him worthy of an effort to save?” 
she asked, as unbidden tears rolled down her furrowed cheeks. 

“Whatever he may be. Madam,” said he, “your love pleads 
for him.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


13 


Courtney was waiting at the curb when Dr. Morrison ar- 
rived. 

“One of your alcoholics, Bob,” was his greeting. “Hurry 
and patch him up. He’s not worth it, but there’s a woman in 
there that is. I’ll wait for you; I v/ant you to drive me home.” 

“Rather a bad hurt, I am afraid,” said the doctor as he 
came from the house. 

“You don’t consider that small injury dangerous?” asked 
Courtney. 

“Why no, not the wound of itself, but in his condition it 
is quite serious. Who is he, and how came you to get mixed 
into such a case?” 

“The white-aproned artist in the saloon where I found him 
said his name was Gardner. As to my getting into the affair, 
I guess it’s my liver; that medicine you gave me, like your 
impractical notions about these rummies, was no good.” 

“The trouble with you, Dave,” laughed the doctor, “is not 
your stomach, but your head. Let’s hear the circumstances 
which induced you to waste time on such a fellow.” 

After listening to the incidents which caused Courtney to 
see the wounded man home. Dr. Morrison was silent for a 
moment. 

“Courtney,” he finally said, “of all the national crimes in 
human experience, history records none more cruelly unjust 
than the legalized liquor traffic. If you’ll go back into the his- 
tory of this drunkard you’ll find that he was once endowed 
with the attributes of success! I mean the power to serve his 
community and make a home happy. The wreck you carried 
home tonight is the result of disease infection through social 
environment enforced upon him by his government.” 

“O, Morrison!” exclaimed the lawyer in impatient protest, 
“if you insist upon wasting your time with these worthless 
cusses, go to it; but for heaven’s sake cut out this ‘government 
enforced infection’ business. Why, men are laughing at you. 
This fellow is the result of his own choosing, nothing more 
and nothing less. The more ability he had, the more severely 


14 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


he should be condemned. I presume you specialists do have 
your sphere of usefulness, but if you’ll excuse me, old man, 
you do grow so narrow between the eyes. Why, you would 
deprive man of his highest attribute, his God-given free agency, 
reducing him to a government-made automaton.” 

“No, Courtney, I would destroy the automatic power of 
government, restore the God-given free agency and give man 
an equal chance.” 

“Well,” said David, slapping the doctor on the back, “here 
we are, and ‘so endeth the first lesson.’ Come in and take 
supper with us. Mother’s been wondering what’s become of 
you.” 

“I’ve dined, thank you, you heathen materialist; but give 
my respects to your excellent mother and say, “If agreeable. 
I’ll dine with you tomorrow.” 

“Good, you dreaming idealist,” laughed Courtney, “and I’ll 
have something to tempt your palate, though I warn you if you 
want to keep the good opinions of Sancho and Cindy, don’t call 
the evening meal ‘dinner.’ It is something they can’t forgive.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


15 


CHAPTER II 

A DANGEROUS THEORY 

^^And say to mothers what a holy charge is theirs — 

^THEN Dr. Morrison’s car drove up, Sancho’s listen- 
ing ear caught the sound. His white woolly head 

peered through the glass, and as David stepped upon 

the porch, the door opened: 

“I speck yo’ ain’t gwin’t like yo’ supper, Marse Dave; hit’s 
des er dryin’ up er waitin’ fo you’,” was the butler’s greeting. 

“Well, Sancho, it’s all right, just so you’ve got enough of 
it; I’m ravenous.” 

“Yas’r, Marse Dave, dey’s plenty of it sich as hit is, en I 
speck mebby hit’ll eat putty good whut dey is uv it — but la, 
Marse Dave, des look at yo’ shoes all kivered wid snow! Yo’ll 
des ketch yo’ def er cole. Set right down at dat big fire what 

I done make fo’ you’; dar yo’ jacket an’ dar yo’ slippers what 

been ’er warmin’ fer you’ dis long time.” 

“Where is another such fortunate man?” said David, kiss- 
ing his gray-haired mother. 

“You may add for me, where is another such fortunate 
mother?” 

“Well,” said he, taking her in his strong arms, “I think 
there are none happier than we.” 

“I speck I mout make yu’ mint jewlip des er leetle stronger, 
Marse Dave,” whispered Sancho, “t’ keep yo’ frum takin’ yo’ 
def er cole.” 

“No, Sancho, you know I never increase the dose. But, 
Sancho, say to Cindy, if she has nothing better, I would like 
very much to finish supper with a plate of hot cakes.” 

“La, Marse Dave, Cindy, she des been er ticklin’ all day 
bout how yo’ gwin’t onrapture over dat plum pudd’n wid de 
brandy er blazin’ on hit when I fetches hit in to yo’.” 

“Sancho, tell Cindy I say. Heaven bless her and cause her 
to live forever. And hurry up!” 


16 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Tee, hee, hee. Yas’er, Marse Dave, Fse gone.” 

“Rushing to the kitchen Sancho ordered: 

“Cindy, hurry up! Marse Dave say he done starve.” 

“Who yo’ talkin’ to, nigger? Ain’t I done starve m’self 
tell I ca’ speak? Don’ you tell me to hurry up no mo’; I buss 
yo’ open, nigger.” 

“Dar now, what fur yo’ allers wants to ruptionate like dat 
fur?” and walking a little closer to his spouse, Sancho whis- 
pered, “Cindy, yo’ des ought’r seen Marse Dave when I tole 
him bout dat pud’n.” 

“La, nigger, yo’ ca’ tell Cindy nuthin’; ain’t I done man- 
age dat chile uver since he been borned?” 

“I hope,” said Mrs. Courtney, “the accident which you 
’phoned was delaying you was not serious?” 

“Well,” replied David, “I trust it’s not as serious as Mor- 
rison seems to fear; it’s one of his specialties.” 

“I suppose, if it is a police case The Dispatch will write 
it up again as treated by the new ‘booze doctor.’ I think the 
paper was quite unfair to Dr. Morrison in referring to him in 
such a way.” 

“Serves him -right,” said David. “For a man of his ability 
to spend all these years in study and travel and then bury his 
splendid talents in an effort to make over a lot of drunken 
sots on the ground that their bestial habit is disease, is ridicu- 
lous. If it were not for my natural love for the man, and 
my respect for his otherwise intellectual ability, I should cut 
him.” 

“I do not think you are quite fair to Dr. Morrison.” 

“But, mother, he is so extreme. If he would lend his 
energy to an intelligent campaign for temperance. I’d join 
him; but I have no patience with his absurd notion of na- 
tional prohibition of all alcoholic beverages on the ground that 
alcohol is a disease-forming drug. Its use is one of our 
oldest and most cherished social customs. Because some men 
make beasts of themselves is no reason why I and other gen- 
tlemen should be deprived of a harmless enjoyment. What 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


17 


should be done is to place a punishment upon every drunkard 
to force him to be temperate and decent.” 

“Perhaps,” replied Mrs. Courtney, “as Dr. Morrison says, 
they can not be temperate.” 

“That’s all bosh; any man can quit drinking or drink 
temperately if he wants to.” 

“But,” urged his mother, “you know Dr. Morrison says 
alcoholism is a disease which makes it impossible for one to 
want to quit, at least his will and purpose are overcome by 
the disease.” 

“Disease!” sneered David. “Why, mother, that is where 
he is so ridiculous. He says the saloon is a government in- 
cubator for disease germs; that every one who takes a drink 
is being infected; that even I, because I take three mint juleps 
a day, and something occasionally at the club, or at a dinner, 
am an alcoholic. He even goes so far as to say I can’t quit. 
Pure nonsense!” 

“Why,” smilingly inquired his mother, “do you not give 
up your toddy just to prove his error?” 

“First, because I would not so dignify his silly theory, and 
second, because I have never been intoxicated, and being in 
no manner injured by its use, I have no desire to quit.” 

“Well,” replied the sweet motherly voice, “I don’t pretend 
to know theories and science, and all that, but my observation 
is that drink is a prolific source of crime and poverty and heart- 
pain.” 

“That can’t be denied, mother,” replied David, “but it all 
comes from the abuse of what is intended for the use of man.” 

Until the recent coming of Dr. Morrison, alcoholic bever- 
ages had never been a subject of conversation in the Courtney 
home. Their use was a custom handed down from generation 
to generation and while less sacred, held of equal respectability 
with the Holy Sacrament. Their abuse was a vulgarism to 
be avoided. 


18 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER III 

PHILIP DORNHAM^ BANKER 

"Do not think that years leave us and find us the 
same'" 

L aying claim to the heritage of honest forbears, Philip 
Dornham had he wished, could also have boasted without 
fear of successful contradiction, that during his own sixty 
years no legal court had ever decreed him dishonest or unjust. 
His grandfather, a distiller by trade, counted among his friends 
and patrons the baker and the banker, the miller and the mer- 
chant, the planter and the preacher. In the age-yellowed rec- 
ords of Old Purity church, this entry may be read today: 

“Elder Dan’l Dornham subscrybes Fiftie Galls of Rye 
Liquore for building of ye house of worshipe.” 

And notwithstanding his disagreement with the changed at- 
titude of the latter day church, that was a record of the doings 
of his grandsire distinctly cherished by Philip Dornham. 

Philip Dornham’s father, while inheriting his father’s 
trade, lost the succeeding pastor of Old Purity as a patron and 
the church lost Dornham as an elder; but at the time there 
were not a few worthy communicants who believed that the 
one was a^ honest as the other. 

Philip Dornham chose for himself the vocation of banker, 
and the only apparent mementoes of his forefather’s trade 
were the licenses of the year 1876 which decorated the walls 
of his private office. He had spent his years and his best en- 
deavors to build the strongest financial institution of his state, 
and to attain correlative power. And he had succeeded. 

The circle of Mr. Dornham ’s personal acquaintance was 
limited, apparently by preference. He was, therefore, consid- 
ered cold, unsympathetic, and, by some, selfish. Political am- 
bition never disturbed the cool, calculating brain of the finan- 
cier, but it was whispered that he had named the governor of his 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


19 


state for ten successive years, while the mayor and legislative 
representatives were supposed to be amenable to his suggestions 
at all times. 

Whether these rumors were true or the whisperings of 
green envy, to Mr. Dornham they were incidental. To sit in 
his office and touch the tendrils that went out to factory, to 
railroads, to mine; to have the conscious potentiality, like the 
switchman in his tower, of pulling the lever that would guide 
these industries on the main line, or shunt one of them or all 
of them into the siding until it was his will to give them mo- 
tion; to ordain the financial existence or the passing of men 
and measures, and the sound of his voice remaining within his 
banking walls — that, to Philip Dornham, was life. 

Mr. Dornham’s benevolences had a rather well-defined rep- 
utation of being of a negative character. There was, there- 
fore, some excitement, even amid the heated presidential cam- 
paign when The Dispatch gave the exclusive announcment of 
the banker’s purpose to build and equip a million-dollar hos- 
pital for the free treatment of disease. While stone and tile 
and marble were fashioned into massive elegance there were 
those who inquired of his physician as to the builder’s health, 
but no one asked the reason for Mr. Dornham ’s plans; and 
Philip Dornham was not given to explanations. 

During the progress of construction there was no undue 
heralding of the project; but when the great keystone bearing a 
beautifully carved American flag was set in the massive arch 
over the entrance. The Dispatch again exclusively announced 
that upon completion Mr. Dornham would transfer title as a 
deed of gift to the United States, and the government would 
accept and maintain the hospital for the free treatment of the 
“Great White Plague.” 

Long years of recondite fellowship had well-nigh inured 
Mr. Dornham to seclusion from social demands. On the day 
of the formal opening of the Dornham hospital, his experience 
was probably undefinable to himself. In a large sense, he held 
the center of the stage. The distinction of being the financial 


20 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


power of the Middle West he had absorbed as by right of 
possession, but finding himself the center of interest in a com- 
pany of professional and scientific men and women and social 
service workers of whose labors he was ignorant, and to whom 
he was a stranger, was an experience so unnatural as to cause 
the multi-millionaire to question the agreeableness of the occa- 
sion. At a banker’s convention he knew the measure of each 
man; but of these, their academic degrees meant nothing to 
him. 

Perhaps it is safe to say Mr. Dornham was bored, until Dr. 
Samuel P. Simms, director general of the United States public 
health, in his speech of acceptance on the part of the govern- 
ment, eulogizing the power of wealth and the magnificence of 
this benevolence, brought the occasion to a close. 

Editorially, The Dispatch introduced a new power in na- 
tional finance. In heavy type, double column, it heralded the 
advent of a new leader in civic righteousness. Philip Dorn- 
ham was pronounced the peer of all men in constructive 
thought and nobility of purpose for human welfare. And it 
rejoiced in citizenship in a government whose liberty incites 
personal achievement and whose co-operative benevolence re- 
gards the sick and destitute. 


THE RIGHTS OF A M A. N 


21 


CHAPTER IV 

THE BANKER^S SON 

^■Can wealth give happiness: Look round, and see 
what gay distress! what splendid misery!'^ 

P hilip DORNHAM had never craved notoriety. His 
great ambition had been to accomplish his purpose in his 
own way and rejoice in his achievement, while the crowd 
wondered how it happened. There was, however, no doubt 
that he was enjoying this new experience. Having risen early, 
he had read the front page lead several times and was again 
absorbed in the editorial, when his son, Philip, junior, late as 
usual, seated himself at the breakfast table. 

“Well, Governor,” said Phil, “BlVe me, you are some 
preserver. If anything was lacking in your carved name over 
the Dornham hospital entrance. The Dispatch has finished the 
job for you.” 

“Oh, Phil!” exclaimed Helen. “Why do you speak in 
such a way about the hospital ?” 

“Why, Sis, Em not saying anything against the hospital — 
it’s all right; but last night as I entered the bar at the club, 
the whole blooming crowd of the fellow^s yelled, ‘Embalmed 
Meat!’” 

“And I think they had little to do to make such a re- 
mark,” said Helen, stepping, to her father’s side and affection- 
ately slipping her arm about his neck. “I was never so proud 
of Dad as I am over this splendid, unselfish act. You know 
Dad never had a thought of himself.” 

“No, I suppose not,” said Phil, holding up the morning 
paper with a picture of the hospital and a large cut of Mr. 
Dornham. “I suppose The Dispatch, just out of pure love of 
the governor, mailed out a hundred thousand extra copies of 
this. That’s what Tom Brown of the circulation department 
told me last night.” 


22 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Phil,” said Helen, “I’m ashamed of you. Just because 
those silly boys teased you, you are in an ugly humor.” 

Mr. Dornham had not spoken, pain and anger were written 
upon CYcry feature. Phil was his only son and, like every 
father, he had dreamed great dreams for him to fulfill. 

“Young man,” said he, “from your present attitude toward 
life, you will need somebody to make your name known.” 

“What I need more than anything else,” yawned Phil, 
lighting a cigarette, “is some one who can make a highball 
without a headache.” 

“What you need is sense; sense enough to know that high- 
balls are made for other people.” 

“So I have heard you say before. Governor; but Philip 
junior has a little thirst of his own that even a hospital won’t 
satisfy.” 

“I’ll make you thirst” — Helen pressed her father’s arm. 
Checking himself, he continued evenly: “Philip next Monday 
will be your twenty-first birthday — time for you to take stock 
of yourself. You have refused to continue in college and, 
judging by your past record, I can see nothing to be gained 
if you should. It has been the desire of my life that you should 
acquire your education and take your place in the world which 
your ability and circumstances make possible. All my labors 
have been for you — and Helen, and the hope of it all is to 
see you take up my labors where I lay them down, and im- 
prove whatever I may have accomplished. With your final 
decision, your college career, disappointing as it is, is in the 
past. “Yet,” he continued, reflectively, “my father having a 
different idea of the benefits of a college training, your educa- 
tion is as good as I had — ” 

“It has been repeatedly impressed upon me,” interrupted 
Phil, “that it is better.” 

“I wish you to listen to me,” sternly demanded Mr. Dorn- 
ham. 

“Sure, Governor! Say, Sis, fix the young man a brandy 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


23 


and soda,” begged Phil; “I can’t understand good English with 
this think-box thumping.” 

“No!” demanded his father. “That is just what is to be 
cut out.” 

“Since when,” asked Phil, “did the Governor become a 
prohibitionist?” 

“Phil, dear,” pleaded Helen, “now listen to Dad; you know 
it is for your good.” 

“Sure!” and the young man lapsed into listlessness. 

“Can’t you see,” urged his father, with something of ten- 
derness coming into his voice, “where this continual club life 
is leading you? Today I have an important piece of work for 
you to do, but it requires a man with a clear head, and you 
are unequal to it.” 

“Do I understand,” appealed Phil, “that I am to be a 
teeotaler ?” 

“Not necessarily, but — ” 

“Then, Helen, little girl,” he begged, “just a sip of that 
brandy and soda — ^what do you say. Dad?” 

“Make it mostly soda, Helen,” smiled the indulgent father. 

“Ahm!” exclaimed Phil, draining the glass, “about two of 
them would fix me for any job you’ve got. Governor.” 

“That is where you are deceived, my son. Within the past 
few months we have lost the most valuable accountant the 
bank has ever had, because he would not control a growing 
appetite.” 

“All right. Governor,” agreed Phil, holding up his hand 
in pledge, “here goes for no more headaches. Now, what’s 
my job for today?” 

“We will see when we reach the bank,” replied Mr. Dorn- 
ham, taking his hat from the rack. 

“But the big job?” persisted Phil. 

“That must wait until you are more fit.” 

“One would think that I am a sot,” complained the young 


man. 


24 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Not at all, son; but an absolutely clear brain that can think 
and act is what business requires.” 

Helen stood in the doorway as the limousine circled the 
drive through the broad lawn to the street and disappeared 
toward the city. Entering the house, she stopped before an oil 
portrait and the eyes of a beautiful woman seemed to give back 
something of her yearning. 

“O, mother, how I miss you!” she sighed. 

At the age of sixteen, while Helen was attending boarding 
school, her mother had died suddenly, rendering a shock which 
for a time threatened serious impairment of her health. With 
his usual authoritative decision, Mr. Dornham had hurried her 
to Italy giving instruction that with her companion she was 
to remain until he called her home. But her father, as yet 
unconscious of the fact, had imparted to his daughter some- 
thing more than an unlimited drawing account; he had failed 
to understand that she had something of his own determined 
will. And having regained her health, notwithstanding the lure 
of travel, Helen’s womanly intuition turned homeward. She 
knew the loneliness of the great house, she knew the need of a 
woman’s love there, and against her father’s instructions, she 
returned home. Inwardly, Mr. Dornham was pleased with 
this evidence of unselfish devotion; but Helen never knew it. 
He welcomed her no more warmly than he would have received 
a business visitor, perhaps, as affectionately as he could, and 
turned the management of the house over to her. That un- 
happiness could exist surrounded by his lavish wealth was an 
impossible thought to Mr. Dornham; he believed his daughter 
happy. She was now twenty-two, and while no wish that 
wealth could supply had ever been denied, the years had been 
cruelly cold. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


25 


CHAPTER V 

AUGUSTUS BUNCH^ BREWER 

"'He hath no power that hath not power to use!^ 

I N THE law office of Hon. Fletcher Babson, member of the 
state senate and confidential attorney to Philip Dornham, 
Augustus Bunch, president of the Thanhouser-Bunch 
Brewing Company, pounded the desk of the attorney with his 
heavy fist. 

“I am uf dis big money bay tired,” he was saying. “It 
vas too much alreaty! Meester Dornham, he know der pankin’ 
peesness, but he know not at all dis peesness, I know; I tried 
’em. Feefty dousand dolers mit frie trinks vould haf did more 
goot alreaty den dese million doler bile of stones. I tells yo 
I grow veary mit it!” 

“Mr. Bunch, did you attend the meeting last week at 
Peoria?” asked Mr. Babson. 

“I was seek.” 

“I’m sorry; you should have been there.” 

“Vat vas done? I hear noddings.” 

“A good deal of very important business was transacted. 
It was decided to send out the report of the committee on the 
day the Dornham Hospital was dedicated — today. You should 
receive the report in your evening mail.” 

“Veil, if it’s for more money bay, I quits.” 

Mr. Babson looked at the brewer as a wise parent regards 
a six-year-old who refuses to swallow a dose of oil; he would 
first reason with him. 

“Mr. Bunch, who owns one-half your stock? Who holds 
all your bonds?” 

“Let Meester Dornham run his pank; I runs my peesness.” 
“So you prefer your old practice of free drinks to the Dorn- 
ham hospital?” 


26 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Mr. Dornham, he vould make vun Sunday school mit der 
saloon. Uh! It vas no goot! Vhat der peesness needs vas 
not so much tarn lawsmakins, Meester Papson.” 

“You have boasted, Bunch, that law does not interfere with 
your business. That is your trouble; what we have not been 
able to change, you have flouted.” 

“Veil, vhat must ve do, Meester Papson?” asked Bunch, 
arching his brows. “Vhen dey pass laws vhat ve like not, ve 
make laws mit our. own vhat ve likes — see?” 

“Bunch, you need a trip,” said Babson, “Because the liquor 
business has been electing its ticket from coroner to governor, 
you believe Brewerton is the center of the universe — ” 

“No, no,” quickly protested Bunch, “Berlin — Berlin vas 
der center, Meester Papson; den Munics und Brewerton.”, 

“Bunch, what I’m trying to show you,” impatiently replied 
Babson, “is that in trying to run your business over govern- 
ment and law, you have run it into the ground. You have 
made it disreputable; it hasn’t one advocate of national reputa- 
tion — ” 

“You dinks not much mit Senator Scanlan and Senator 
Duboise, Mr. Papson.” 

“Both Scanlan and Duboise are known as your tools, and 
you know it. The business hasn’t a disinterested business man 
known beyond the borders of his own state who is willing to 
stand for it. We had to create one. Yesterday Mr. Dornham 
was known only as a business man of local prominence; tomor- 
row he will be known throughout the United States as a world 
benefactor. Within six days in every precinct throughout the 
land men will be reading to their children from their weekly 
papers of the great benefactor of the human family — Philip 
Dornham’s name will be a household word in every Ameri- 
can home.” 

“Veil, but Meester Dornham — ” 

“His relation to the business is unknown and will remain 
so. His stock is in my name as trustee. Now think, if you 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


27 


can, what influence an interview from him would have — free 
advertising in every paper in the United States, which could 
not be bought at any price.” 

“But, Meester Papson,” still protested Bunch, “ud cost von 
million doler.” 

“Do you really not see. Bunch, that unless something is 
done to check this onsweep of prohibition, that within four 
years there may not be a distiller’s worm running in these 
United States — not a vat brewing beer?” 

“Veil now, Meester Papson, I b’lieve you lose your nerve!” 
sneered Bunch. “You dinks not der tarn granks vill do nod- 
dings mit Vashington?” 

“If it is prevented,” replied Babson, “it will be by the use 
of money, and a great deal of it.” 

“How mooch you dinks?” asked Bunch, incredulously. 

“I can only tell you the action of the Peoria committee; 
it decided to raise during the next four years, one hundred 
million dollars.” 

At mention of the sum Bunch sprang to his feet as if 
dynamite had exploded under his chair. 

“O, mein Gott, mein Gotti” he exclaimed, the color fading 
from his ruddy cheeks. 

“Why, Bunch, do you think it is too much?” 

“Doo much, doo much!” gasped Bunch. “Id vill pank- 
roopt all of us; ve sell not so much in four years.” 

“O, take heart, Mr. Bunch, “Mr. Babson encouraged, 
“you are not informed ; last year the drink bill was two and a 
quarter billions. But after all, the drinker pays it.” 

“O mein Gott, mein Gott!” moaned the brewer, “Vich 
is der most vorst, var mit der Allies, var mit der tarn proo- 
beechionists, or Meester Dornham’s beeg notions?” 

“Bunch, impatiently replied the lawyer, “if you were in 
mid-ocean in a sinking ship, what would you give for a life 
boat? That is precisely the situation of your business. Mr. 


28 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


Dornham recognizes the truth, and as bondholder of the brew- 
eries of the Middle West, he is going to force such of you 
as are unwilling to protect him and save yourselves.” 

“O dear, O dear!” groaned Bunch, shaking his head from 
side to side, his wattles rolling like a handsome berkshire, 
“Vhat will ve do ?” 

“Do as you are bidden, and keep a ready check-book.” 

“But—” 

“Another thing,” added Mr. Babson, “see that the saloons 
owned by your company observe the law!” 

“But vhat must ve do? Let der tarn venatics run our 
peesness ?” 

“Call them by whatever name you wish,” admonished the 
attorney, “but it is time you are learning that the latter day 
world has a different viewpoint of your business than your 
own, and if you expect it to live, take what I have said as 
instruction, not as advice.” 

“O, my poor vife Hannah! I vish dem tarn proobeeshion- 
ists vas in hell alreaty.” 

“Well, they are not,” laughed Mr. Babson, “or I think 
there might not be room for others of us who may some day 
knock for admission.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


29 


CHAPTER VI 

AN ENLIGHTENED DOCTOR 

is the free man, whom the truth makes free. 

And all are slaves beside/" 

T he friendship of David Courtney and Dr. Robert 
Morrison dated from a summer acquaintance when 
as boys they had met at Saratoga Springs, the 
the summer resort of their respective families. In dis- 
position and tastes they were as opposite as their early 
habitations or their later politics. Born and reared upon the 
eastern shores of Lake Michigan, Dr. Morrison cast his first 
presidential ballot for William Howard Taft, while David 
went down in defeat with William Jennings Bryan and from 
his Mississippi home wired his friend the day following elec- 
tion, “ril get you next time.” 

Coming into possession of a comfortable fortune just after 
receiving his medical degree, and finding himself independent 
to follow his bent, Dr. Morrison devoted himself to the study 
of the pathology of alcoholism, a subject upon which there 
was an even greater division between the two friends than their 
politics. When he was ready for the practice of his profession, 
Dr. Morrison had chosen Brewerton, the manufacturing center 
of alcoholic beverages in the United States, as the logical place 
for what he hoped to be his usefulness, and in renewing a 
mutually valued friendship, the antipodes of the two men were 
thus accentuated. 

“Morrison, I warned you last evening,” said David at 
the supper table, “that I would tempt your appetite; now if 
you fail to have one of Sancho’s mint juleps you will surely 
deprive yourself of the greatest beverage that ever soothed a 
thirsty throat or gladdened the heart of man.” 

“Dat’s de Lawd’s truf, Marse Dave, hit sho am,” whis- 
pered Sancho from behind David’s chair. 

“Sancho, you black rascal, keep quiet.” 


30 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Yas-r, yas-r, Marse Dave; ’scuse old Sancho dis time — 
er — eh, Marse Dave dees yo’ wants yo’ glass tookened out?” 
and the old butler’s eyes sparkled at the partly emptied glass 
like those of a hungry maltese at a mouse nursery. 

“Yes, Sancho, since the doctor will not join me, and you 
may bring in the possum and the hoecake, the second tempta- 
tion. As Sancho passed into the kitchen he drained the glass 
and although exerting himself he failed to restrain his ebulli- 
tion. 

“Ahm! Bless de Lawd! Ah wush my froat was er mile 
long!” 

“David,” reproved Mrs. Courtney, “you have completely 
spoiled Sancho. Imagine your father permitting the butler to 
speak while serving! I hope Dr. Morrison will excuse such 
conduct.” 

“I am not so sure, Mrs. Courtney,” laughed the doctor, 
“but what it is Sancho who is spoiling your son.” 

“I believe you are right, Doctor,” agreed Mrs. Courtney. 

“Well, Mother,” said David, “we will never have another 
Sancho; I must enjoy the old rascal while he lasts. Watch 
him, Morrison, eye that dish.” 

“Another weakness of the race, so I am told,” said the doc- 
tor, as Sancho placed before David the possum baked to a 
beautiful brown and surrounded by a row of sweet potatoes. 

“No,” said David, “that is wrong; when you have once 
tasted it you will consider any man deficient who fails to enjoy 
possum properly prepared. A friend from our old home sent 
this yesterday, the first of the season. Last night Sancho placed 
him upon the roof after the prescribed fashion, allowing him 
to freeze, since -which Cindy has been the artist. Those yams 
which surround the noble creature were grown on the old farm 
in a certain field which my father believed was the only kind 
of soil which would produce really edible potatoes; and this 
sauce is made from wild winter grapes upon which the possum 
in that section fattens.” 

“I believe you have me convinced, Dave, before tasting.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


31 


“Mistah Moison,” asked Sancho, with pitcher poised until 
David had finished his tribute to possum, “will yo’ hab some 
’simmon beer?” 

“Simmon beer? inquired the doctor, while David exploded 
with laughter. 

“Don’t touch it. Bob; I warn you, it is wickedly danger- 
ous — ” 

“Dr. Morrison,” interrupted Mrs. Courtney as Sancho 
filled his glass, “persimmon beer is a very delicious beverage 
made from persimmons and wild honey locusts; it is entirely 
non-alcoholic and Sancho is quite expert in making it.” 

“All de white folks says” — A glance from Mrs. Courtney 
was sufficient to silence Sancho. “Missus does yo’ wants de 
punkin pie fotchen in?” 

“Yes, Sancho, and the coffee.” 

“Well, Morrison,” inquired David, when they had re- 
paired to the library, “how did you find your patient today?” 

“Progressing satisfactorily, I think,” said the doctor. 

“He was sitting up late this afternoon when I called.” 

“When you called !” exclaimed the physician. 

“Yes, I dropped in to satisfy some curiosity,” said David. 

“I have wondered all day what could possibly have inter- 
ested you in that man.” 

“It is a rather singular coincidence; I find I once knew 
him.” 

“Indeed!” exclaimed the doctor. “And you failed to recog- 
nize him last night?” 

“He is greatly changed,” said David. 

“Was he addicted to drink then?” asked the doctor. 

“He says not, and I have reason to believe him.” 

Reflectively looking into the roaring log fire, a luxury of 
country life which Courtney had never been willing to deny 
himself, he continued: 

“It was — O, ages ago it seems — when I was attending the 
village high school some distance from my home that each day 
as I passed a certain cottage upon the outer border of the vil- 


32 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


lage, a little girl with large blue eyes and flaxen curls who 
called herself ‘Dolly Darden’ would spring from among the 
roses and cry, ‘Boo.’ By making friends with the child, I be- 
came acquainted with her father who I learned was book- 
keeper for the principal store and also town clerk. On one 
occasion I recall that I, with some other students, was called 
before the Intendent, for some boyish prank. It was before 
the village had reached the distinction of having a mayor, and 
the clerk interceded for us. Yesterday I drew the complaint 
for the foreclosure of a mortgage given by James Gardner, and, 
while the strings of memory tugged, I could not make the con- 
nection. He was the village clerk. Possibly it was this vague 
memory which influenced me to carry him home and call you; 
I can think of nothing else.” 

“Did you learn what business Mr. Gardner is now en- 
gaged in?” asked the doctor. 

“Until some months ago he was accountant in the Dorn- 
ham Bank and Trust Company.” 

“I suppose his habits cost him his place?” 

“Certainly,” replied David, “nobody wants a man like that 
in a responsible position.” 

“Well, Courtney,” said the doctor, “you recall what I said 
yesterday about this man; he is just one of the hundreds of 
thousands, victims of his government.” 

“He is a victim of his own inexcusable submission to appe- 
tite and nothing more,” retorted Courtney. 

“Was Gardner, when you knew him, a man of average in- 
telligence?” 

“Why, yes, I think so; perhaps above the average.” 

“Then you believe that he willingly destroyed his capacity 
for earning a living, squandered his home, the product of 
years of toil, and wrecked his health and the happiness of his 
family?” 

“It is not a matter of belief,” retorted David; “it is only 
another leaf in the world-old record of fact that men do submit 
to appetite and passions which destroy.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


33 


“Ah!” exclaimed the physician, “You do admit that it is a 
matter of submission. Then, there must be some controlling 
influence. Whatever that influence is — you call it habit, I 
know, it is a disease — by the approval and authority of gov- 
ernment it is being spread from every distillery, brewery and 
saloon in the Union. The result is — Gardner!” 

“Bob, I think I’ll have you treated for f anatic-itis ; yours 
is the most inflammatory case I have seen. What you wish is 
for the government to say to me that I shall not take a drink. 
Well, you may as well learn now that grown men will not 
submit to any such curtailment of their personal privileges; 
this free American people will never agree to any such gov- 
ernment of- paternalism.” 

“Perhaps, Dave,” acknowledged the doctor, “I am passing 
my depth in discussing political economy; I confess it has not 
been in the line of my endeavors; but somewhere I have ab- 
sorbed the notion that government is for the general good. Am 
I right?” 

“Certainly,” Courtney replied. 

“Then whatever intervenes to impair the general peaceful 
enjoyment of success, subvert achievement, or destroy happiness 
is the business of government to correct.” 

“But,” urged David, “government has no right, specific or 
implied, to interfere with my personal privilege so long as I 
do not infringe upon the rights of others.” 

“Unquestionably a correct principle,” agreed the doctor. 

“Then where is your complaint?” asked David. 

“Why, applying the principle even as you state it, you are 
forced to admit that Simon Jacobi should not have been 
granted the privilege of selling to James Gardner a disease- 
creating drug, which has impaired his mental and physical 
health, destroyed his powers of success, his usefulness as a citi- 
zen, and the peaceful enjoyment of life.” 

“That,” replied David, “is admitting your absurd non- 
resisting disease theory, which no practical man will do. I 


34 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


hold that alcoholic beverages are legitimate, useful commodi- 
ties of trade, subject, of course, to abuse.” 

“If you will prove,” challenged the doctor, “that alcohol 
as a beverage has ever added one dollar to the wealth of the 
world, has stimulated the intellectual thought of individual or 
national life, healed disease, contributed in any measure to the 
general welfare, or has brought one ray of permanent peaceful 
enjoyment to the individual or to the home, I will admit that 
your theory is a basis for argument.” 

“Do you mean to question my intelligence by saying alcohol 
has no medicinal value?” 

“Well no, Courtney; I mean, if you have such a notion you 
have accepted an exploded theory, a cherished myth, without 
troubling yourself to learn the truth. But,” continued the doc- 
tor, “before we leave the subject, let us dispose of the question 
of personal privilege and the responsibility and duty of gov- 
ernment. It has been quite a while since my college days, but 
I think I can repeat Mill on that fairly accurately. He says: 

“ ‘All trade is a social act. Whoever undertakes to sell any 
description of goods to the public does what affects the interests 
of other persons and of society in general and thus his conduct 
in principle comes within the jurisdiction of society.’ 

“This principle of government has been fully recognized 
and appropriated in the Pure Food and Drug act; do you 
contend that it was an unwarranted infringement upon the 
personal privilege of the individual?” 

“Certainly not,” impatiently replied David; “the public has 
a right to demand of government protection against greed that 
would adulterate food and drugs, the absolute necessities for 
sustaining life, or permit them to be sold when unwholesome. 
I do not contend that these beverages are necessities; their 
use being social; they are useful for man’s pleasures. Their 
abuse is a crime against society and one’s self for which gov- 
ernment is not responsible.” 

“All right; for sake of argument let us place it upon that 
basis alone and see what the responsibility of government is. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


35 


“None better than yourself knows the emphasis govern- 
ment places upon observance of law. From childhood men 
are taught respect and reverence for it ; therefore, whatever law 
approves men accept as their economic and moral right. By 
legalizing the traffic, placing its stamp of approval upon the 
saloon, government has deprived its citizens of all apprehension 
of danger. Is it not plain that for whatever resultant injury, 
government is responsible?” 

“O, I presume,” growled Courtney, “you would gather all 
the ‘heartaches and dishonored graves,’ as the lecturers put it, 
and lay them at the door of government.” 

“You will admit,” replied Dr. Morrison, “that I have at 
no time argued the moral phase of the question; I leave that 
to others. My work is that of the physician; to learn the 
demonstrable effect of alcohol upon the human system — the 
body and brain — and to find, not only a remedy but a preven- 
tive. I will admit, I have discovered nothing new; my re- 
search experiments and observations extending through many 
years and to all the civilized, and many non-civilized races of 
the earth, but confirm the conclusions of Forel, Clausen, 
Hodge, Horsley, Cutten, Phelps and many other authorities 
that alcoholism is disease, the most destructive of all diseases 
known to medical science; and that the only prevention is an- 
nihilation of the cause.” 

“O, there you go again. Bob!” protested David. “Just 
like ail these fanatical prohibitionists, when you are about to 
make out a case against John Barleycorn, you kill it by some 
extreme, unreasonable claim. Didn’t you read the statement 
a few days ago in connection with the dedication of the Dorn- 
ham Hospital that tuberculosis is the king terror among all 
diseases?” 

“Consumption I” said Dr. Morrison, with something of 
horror in his voice. “I never speak that word without a shud- 
der. We try to quarantine our homes against it, we expend 
millions of dollars in private and public funds as so splendidly 
evidenced by that great philanthropy to which you just re- 


36 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


ferred; medical men, the giants of the profession, devote their 
lives searching for a remedy and preventive, to stay its destroy- 
ing power, yet last year it claimed a death roll of 140,000 ” 

“Then why should you just now claim ” 

“Wait, Dave,” said the doctor, rising with positive domi- 
nance over his friend, “for twenty thousand of these, or 
one-seventh, the superinducing cause was alcoholic deple- 
tion. Brouardel, a French authority, says alcohol is ‘the 
most powerful factor in the propagation of tuberculosis.’ But 
alcohol has its own peculiar graveyard and into it each year 
sink 152,000 men, women and children.” 

“O, horrible!” exclaimed Mrs. Courtney, who had been an 
intentive listener. 

“I don’t believe it, Bob; you can’t prove it,” asserted 
David. 

“No,” confessed Dr. Morrison, “I can’t prove it; it’s only 
an estimate by men interested in arriving at facts; govern- 
ments give no statistics of their number.” 

“Bob,” protested David, “do you think you should speak 
of your government in that manner?” 

“I dislike to, Courtney, sincerely,” replied the doctor. 
“Can you give me a more appropriate term?” 

“Just now you spoke with warm approval of the govern- 
ment’s benevolence in adopting the Dornham Hospital ” 

“And sincerely,” asserted the doctor. “I approve every 
measure for the relief of human suffering and the prevention 
of pre-natural death. The government’s effort, through that 
institution to discover a more successful treatment for tuber- 
culosis than has yet been found, is worthy of highest commenda- 
tion. But what is your opinion of the justice or even business 
judgment of the same government which refuses to destroy what 
science has proved with absolute accuracy the most prolific 
cause of the disease?” 

“Well, while I do not admit your statement of facts, if 
it were as you put it, it would be poor business policy at least, 
but — O, confound it! you have dragged and kept me in this 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


37 


detestable subject long enough; let’s talk something more ex- 
citing. How’s your candidate, Hughes?” 

“I see by the evening paper his voice is losing power.” 

“I’m sorry for you, Bob,” laughed David; “you started the 
campaign with a candidate composed of voice and whiskers, 
and now the voice is gone. Ha, ha, ha! What a candidate! 
Well, old boy, I can congratgulate you that he has retained 
the more impressive part.” 

“Mrs. Courtney,” said the doctor, “because your son gets 
a president of his choosing once in twenty years or so, he gets 
gay. Well, make the most of it, Dave. In two more weeks 
it’s my turn to ” 

“Whiskers, ha, ha, ha!” laughed Courtney. “Say, Bob, 
come to my office the day after election and I will draw a 
petition to President Wilson to appoint Charlie minister to 
Chile, that will suit his temperament; I believe there is a 
suspicion that those people are also descendants of Esau. Perhaps 
they may adopt him and give him a job of president after all.” 

“O, you hot-blood!” flung back the doctor. “You South- 
erners can’t understand argument unless it’s couched in fervid 
eloquence; but election day will show you that the people be- 
lieve in action and not in ‘note writing.’ But, say, what 
o’clock is it? I have wasted too much time already on your 
denseness. I am sorry, Mrs. Courtney,” said Dr. Morrison, 
bidding her goodnight, “to have lost the opportunity of delight- 
ful and helpful converse with you, in a useless effort to con- 
vince your obdurate son.” 

“Well, Doctor Morrison,” replied Mrs. Courtney, “you 
have given me information, and I might say inspiration, which 
might have been more useful had it come earlier in life. I hope 
you will not fail to inform the people generally of these as- 
tounding facts and conditions.” 

“O, you couldn’t smother him with chloroform, mother,” 
laughed David. 

“I hope not,” said she. “Good-night, doctor, we shall an- 
ticipate a repetition of this evening soon.” 


38 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER VII 

A DISTURBED BOSS 

^Tis a principle of war that when you can use the 
lightning, 'tis better than cannon!' 

C oincident with the dedication of the Dornham 
hospital, by arrangement with a clipping bureau, news- 
paper notices and editorial comment came pouring in. 
It was Mr. Dornham’s first visit to the office of his chief di- 
rector since the inauguration of the campaign for his introduc- 
tion as the new moulder of public sentiment. 

“How goes it, Fletcher?” he inquired. 

“Glorious!” replied Mr. Babson, pointing to the forty-eight 
volumes of clippings, one for each state, upon the shelf. It is 
a most marvelous achievement, and would probably make your 
head soar rather high if you would take time to read some of 
the editorial comment.” 

“It was not for that purpose,” said the banker. “But with 
this evidence before them, what is the opinion now of the ex- 
ecutive committee?” 

“Every member enthusiastic,” Mr. Babson assured him. 
“That is better; I dislike to drive when I can lead. Is the 
machinery in operation for the collection of the funds?” 

“Five hundred thousand was deposited this week, to be 
followed with a like sum each week for two hundred weeks.” 

“What is the method of collection?” inquired the banker, 
with accuracy of detail which had characterized all his business 
methods. 

“The brewers and distillers will remit direct; but the bulk 
must come through collectors, from saloons, clubs, gaming 
houses, and allied interests.” 

“How about-—?” 

“They,” replied Mr. Babson, “will pay according to the 
number of girls to the house.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


39 


“It is well inaugurated, Fletcher,” Mr. Dornham com- 
mended ; “but remember that system — system is the word ; 
there must be no deviation. What further is being done in 
the way of publicity?” 

“The exchange of editorial comment among the papers has 
taken care of that until now; I have here your first interview, 
which our news agency will send out today,” replied Mr. 
Babson, passing it to him. 

“Oh, read it if you like; that’s a matter of detail for you,” 
replied the banker. 

“Philip Dornham,” read the attorney, “the multi-million- 
aire banker and philanthropist, celebrated his sixtieth birthday 
anniversary yesterday. When seen at his office in the Dornham 
Trust Building, Mr. Dornham had just come from his visit 
to the Dornham hospital which he recently built at a cost of 
one million dollars and presented to the national government 
for the free treatment of tuberculosis. It is the custom of Mr. 
Dornham to visit the hospital each day and carry flowers to 
patients, and while always reluctant to speak of his benevo- 
lences, Mr. Dornham acknowledged that the gratitude of suf- 
fering humanity touches him deeply upon these occasions. 

“Mr. Dornham works at his desk eight hours each day 
and has the appearance of a man much younger than his years. 
When asked as to what he attributes his splendid physical con- 
dition, he replied: ‘To regular habits, sufficient exercise and 
the temperate use of alcoholic beverages of the lighter varie- 
ties.’ ” 

“Those visits to the hospital?” inquired the banker, shaking 
his head. 

“Oh,” laughed Mr. Babson, “you can drop in occasionally.” 

“Have you secured satisfactory public speakers for the 
present needs?” 

“I fear that is going to be more difficult than I at first 
contemplated. To illustrate, I thought I had a jewel in the 


40 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


Rev. Ashton of Milwaukee, a brilliant, persuasive speaker; 
but I am today in receipt of information that his congregation 
has deposed him for intemperance. 

For some moments Mr. Dornham sat meditating upon the 
report of his personal representative in his gigantic battle for 
alcohol. To the world at large the banker would be known 
as the great philanthropist whose life purpose was the relief of 
suffering and the healing of disease, as a business man of great 
achievements, and of liberal interpretation of the liberties of 
the American citizen. But within the silent walls of Fletcher 
Babson’s office his voice was to be the chief in command in the 
great struggle of alcohol to which the centuries have pointed. 
He was not unconscious of the difficulties to overcome in re- 
vamping and making respectable a business which had made 
itself hateful, and he proposed to use respectability in bringing 
this reform. 

“Do not be discouraged, Fletcher,” said he, “by occasional 
failures. Modern fanaticism has unfitted most of these men for 
practical thinking and usefulness, others will be slow to com- 
p: chend the benefits of giving respectability to a degraded busi- 
ness, while others are weak as instanced by the case you men- 
tion. But do not abandon your efforts to enlist the co-opera- 
tion of the clergy. Be liberal with them and you will succeed 
in securing at least one dependable one in almost every com- 
munity. Of course, you will have a strong attorney in every 
county seat, and we vv^ill soon have literature which will be 
convincing to the medical profession.” 

“I can not persuade myself,” replied Mr. Babson, “that 
we are to receive any considerable support from these profes- 
sions.” 

“Why, I am surprised at you, Fletcher,” said Mr. Dorn- 
ham. “For what purpose, do you think, are we raising this 
enormous sum? Do you not remember the old adage: ‘Pay 
liberally for your advertising, and buy the editor’,” 

Mr. Babson smiled. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


41 


“Have you met Walton, editor of the Intelligencer?” 

“I do not need to ; I know human nature.” 

“Of course,” replied Babson, “I shall proceed upon your 
theory. So far I have met with very little encouragement to 
hope for anything important from these professions. Medical 
men are leaving their colleges nowadays with changed instruc- 
tions and conceptions of the therapeutic value of alcohol, as in- 
stanced by Dr. Morrison of this city.” 

“Do not measure them all by one extremist,” replied the 
banker. “That fellow has a few lectures to deliver for the 
purpose of introducing himself; when he has sufficiently ad- 
vertised himself leave it to me; we will use him.” 

“The quicker the better,” said Mr. Babson, “for he is 
undoubtedly creating the wrong sentiment for our interests.” 

“He has certainly made no impression upon his friend 
Courtney; last evening at my home he was speaking of the 
doctor’s impracticable notions.” 

At the mention of Courtney’s name Mr. Babson scowled. 
At that moment the office boy announced Mr. Samuels in 
waiting. 

“Samuels? Send him in,” directed Mr. Dornham. 

Herman Samuels, political boss of Brewerton, was known 
among his friends as a “good fellow,” and while the appellation 
was by no means universal, his following was sufficient to 
warrant his other distinction, which he valued more. He wore 
a suit of grey check, with light tan vest relieved by green and 
gold figures to which hung a heavy gold watch chain sup- 
porting a massive emblem of a popular secret social order. A 
huge diamond stud, a ring on the third finger of his dealing 
hand of equal proportion and brilliancy, and a gold-headed cane 
set with a ruby of rare quality, were his decorations. Measur- 
ing, possibly fifty inches around the girth, his height of five feet 
eight gave him the appearance of being a “well-rounded” per- 
son, while his bullet-shaped head protruding through a series of 
pink rolls of fat, produced an uncertainty as to whether they 


42 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


belonged to his head or his sloping shoulders. When he spoke, 
his voice originated somewhere in the region of the diaphragm, 
and vocalizing over what seemed a series of files, it exploded in 
rasping gutturals. His nose and lips bore unmistakable testi- 
mony of an ancient and honorable lineage. 

“Well, Samuels,” greeted Mr. Dornham, “what are your 
troubles?” 

“Troubles!” laughed Samuels, spreading his soft, pink 
hands with an eloquent palm-upward motion, “I have none.” 

“What do you think of that, Fletcher?” asked Mr. Dorn- 
ham. 

“I believe,” replied the lawyer, “Samuels bears the reputa- 
tion of very liberally transferring his troubles to the other fel- 
low.” 

“Can’t be stingy in my business,” chuckled the boss. “That 
is why I bring some of them to you, gentlemen.” 

“To be specific?” inquired Mr. Dornham. 

“This new booze doctor.” 

“Well, what of him?” impatiently demanded the banker. 

“Just this, Mr. Dornham,” said Samuels, “with Colonel 
Jones’ name as the figurehead at the mast of the Citizens and 
Taxpayers’ League, I can run that institution as I proved to 
you by savin’ the state from the dry dope the last time the 
blue-ribboners tried to take it from us; but that doctor jink 
is out of my class. I come to turn him over to you.” 

“O Samuels, forget that fellow; there’s nothing to him.” 

“Have you heard his lectures?” 

“Certainly not!” 

“Better do it, Mr. Dornham,” urged Samuels; “get ac- 
quainted. I’ve been — made it my biz; watched the folks, and 
how they perform for him. I speak it to you straight, gentle- 
men, his line of talk’s puttin’ ’em to school, and they ain’t 
learnin’ the lesson that’s good for our business.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


43 


“You’re excited, Samuels,” impatiently replied Mr. Dorn- 
ham. 

“If I am, it’s the first time since I was eight days old and 
paid my last visit to the Rabbi. But that’s not changin’ what 
I’m handin’ you. That guy’s goin’ to raise some hell in our 
line of business if you don’t get him stopped.” 

“Is that why you came?” inquired Mr. Dornham. 

“Partly,” replied Samuels, “and that’s a plenty for you 
and Mr. Babson to be thinkin’ about. But Bunch wants me 
to let up on his saloons; says they’re payin’ at both ends — the 
brewery and the saloons.” 

“Tell Bunch,” interposed Mr. Babson, “to go to the devil. 
No,” he said, “send him to me. But you make your collec- 
tions according to program; you understand?” 

“I get you,” nodded the boss, rising to go. 

“Samuels,” called Mr. Dornham, “don’t think I am indif- 
ferent to your report; I’ll look after the doctor, and if he gets 
troublesome, we’ll pull him off: How much do you think it’ll 
take?” 

“He’s a new kind to me, Mr. Dornham — out of my class; 
just as soon bet on Jacobi’s hand in a million dollar pot.” 

“Well, Fletcher,” said Mr. Dornham, as the door closed 
behind the retiring boss, “what is there about this man Morri- 
son that has impressed both you and Samuels so seriously?” 

“Samuels has stated it rather bluntly, but plainly; he is 
informing the people of the effects of alcohol. We have tried, 
and until within the past few years we have succeeded in 
keeping the subject out of textbooks on hygiene used in public 
schools. The thing most damaging to the liquor business, Mr. 
Dornham, is not the old spread-eagle, ‘blood-money’ speeches 
of temperance lecturers, but a knowledge of the inevitable re- 
sults from its use which science is beginning to promulgate.” 

Mr. Dornham was by no means a profane man, as pro- 
fanity goes in the saloons; but such an admission from his 
chief counsellor came as a shock. 


44 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Oh, to hell with science!” he exclaimed. “Fletcher, my 
only objection to you is your overcaution. What you want to 
understand is that I have accepted this task to win; we must 
win!” 

“If human effort coupled with the power of money can 
win,” said the lawyer, “we will win; but in my judgment I 
have pointed out the field of battle.” 

“I will think it over,” said the banker, brushing a spot of 
dust from his hat. “Suppose you come out this evening.” 

“Why, if Miss Helen—” 

“Certainly, she will be glad to see you.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


45 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE BANKER^S DAUGHTER 
There's beggary in the love that can be reckoned," 

U PON those occasions when Mr. Dornham’s thoughts 
turned from banking, bonds, and brewing, and dwelt 
for a moment upon the inner circle of his home, it 
was to contemplate, at some indefinite time, the fulfillment of 
certain very definite plans upon which he had agreed with 
himself. It had long been Mr. Dornham’s custom, in ar- 
ranging the trestleboard of life, to set his men facing the ulti- 
mate goal and move them forward as the exigencies of time 
proved desirable. Miscarriage of the banker’s plans had been 
too rare to cause him to consider any possible imperfection of 
his system. He was, therefore, contemplating the next move 
when his daughter entered his office. 

It was Mr. Dornham’s custom to take his mid-day meal 
in his private dining room adjoining the bank lunch room 
where the employes were served. Usually some business asso- 
ciate shared this meal, more as a time saving opportunity than 
a social occasion, and it was there that most of his financial 
plans were perfected. But upon the rare occasions that Helen 
received invitations to lunch with her father, they were always 
joyfully accepted. 

“Ah, lunch time so soon?” he asked, consulting his watch. 
“I came early to arrange the table,” said she, holding up a 
beautiful bunch of flowers. “Aren’t they lovely?” 

“I was just thinking about you, Helen.” 

“You always are, my good old dad,” said Helen, stroking 
his whitening hair. 

For a moment Mr. Dornham looked at his daughter, and 
concluding that it was an opportune time for what he had to 
say, drew a chair near his desk. 

“Take this seat, daughter, I want to talk with you.” 


46 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


As she seated herself, Helen thought she detected an unusual 
tenderness in her father’s voice, and before he spoke he took 
her hand in his. 

“I understand you are about to bestow your affections upon 
Mr. David Courtney.” 

“Why, dad!” exclaimed Helen coyly, the rich color bathing 
her fair face. “Who has had the audacity to reveal my se- 
crets?” 

“Mr. Courtney has just left me; he came to ask my con- 
sent.” 

“I hope you gave it, dad,” she said, nestling closer to her 
father. 

“My daughter, you are aware of my wishes; Fletcher Bab- 
son, since you were a child, has looked upon you as his future 
wife!” 

“Now, dad; if Mr. Babson has been so unwise as to waste 
these years when he should have been married, I am sorry, but 
it is not my fault. I have spoken plainly to Mr. Babson, and 
I thought when we last discussed this subject that you under- 
stood it was to be dismissed.” 

“Not entirely, Helen; your future is too precious too — ” 

“Now, my sweet old dad,” coaxed Helen, “please don’t 
insist upon discussing Mr. Babson; he is your friend and I 
want to think of him and treat him as such.” 

“All I ask,” insisted Mr. Dornham, “is that you give some 
practical consideration to your future position and welfare and 
to my parental wishes.” 

“What is your objection to Mr. Courtney?” 

“Who is Mr. Courtney?” 

More than his question, Mr. Dornham ’s tone and manner 
carried his unmistakable meaning. 

“Father,” said Plelen, the color fading from her cheeks, “I 
don’t think you mean that.” 

“I mean exactly that,” was the impatient reply. “What 
of fortune or future can he offer you?” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


47 


“I do not think you understand, father,” said Helen, sooth- 
ingly. “Mr. Courtney is a gentleman. He says he can sup- 
port me, which I have no reason to doubt ; and I love him.” 

“Support you indeed!” sneered Mr. Dornham. “And 
how? Do you know where he lives?” 

“Yes, father; not on Riverside boulevard, but in a per- 
fectly respectable community, and in a home of unquestionable 
taste.” 

“How do you know that?” demanded Mr. Dornham. 

“I have called upon Mrs. Courtney, his mother.” 

“You have called!—” 

Mr. Dornham could go no further; his anger was speech- 
less. 

“I think ril go, father,” said Helen gathering her wraps. 

“Wait!” he commanded. “I order you to dismiss this man 
from your mind; we will discuss the other matter later.” 

“Father,” entreated Helen, her tall figure erect, her lovely 
throat and bosom swelling with emotion, while from beneath 
her long lashes her dark eyes flashed purposefully, “I have 
promised not to marry against your wishes; I hope you help 
me keep that promise. But I have never promised to marry, 
nor shall I ever marry a man I do not love.” 

“You will be guided by my better knowledge of your wel- 
fare,” said Mr. Dornham, “and I hope you will be reasonable.” 

“I shall never, never marry Fletcher Babson!” 

Had Mr. Dornham been looking at his daughter as she 
stood at the door ready to leave his office, it is not improbable 
that he w*ould have conceded defeat in his long cherished pur- 
pose. 

In his anger he was looking in the opposite direction. 

When Mr. Courtney emerged from the interview with Mr. 
Dornham, a scant half hour before Helen entered, he was in 
no mood for work; he was not only disappointed, he was both 


48 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


angered and wounded. He had failed to anticipate Mr. Dorn- 
ham’s refusal, and conscious of being the peer of any in his 
profession, with an honorable and proud ancestry, Mr. Dorn- 
ham’s respectful but positive refusal was a shock from which 
he needed cool air to recover. What he wanted most was 
to see Helen. But that must wait. 

It was one of those days when the mercury standing just 
above the freezing point seemed to belie the truth. A heavy fog 
sweeping up from the Mississippi mixed with the smoke and 
soot which hung low over the city and condensing upon the 
cornice of the tall buildings dropped in murky puddles upon 
the pavement, while the damp chill struck to the bone. As he 
turned into Forbes street a boy a little more than a dozen years 
of age emerged from an alley. He wore a coat from which 
one sleeve was missing, the other slit from shoulder to hand 
was pinned around his arm with rusty nails. His knicker- 
bockers hanging their full length failed to cover his sockless 
legs above the old shoes several sizes too large, and held upon 
his feet by a cord tied around the ankles. A piece of white 
cloth through which a hole had been cut to allow his head to 
pass hung well to his knees in front and behind, upon which 
was scrawled : “Voat dri for my sak.” 

When Mr. Courtney had overtaken the shivering figure 
and caught the quiver of his cold, blue lips, he was instantly 
convinced that this was only another activity of the W. C. T. 
U., a company of honest but misguided women, and he felt a 
flush of angry impatience with fanaticism which, for the pur- 
pose of creating maudlin sentiment, would expose the boy to 
such weather. Approaching him, he inquired. 

“Why, my little man, what are you doing?” 

“Cain’t yer read?” asked the boy in the language of the 
street. “I’m campaignin’.” 

“But the election’s over, and you’ve lost.” 

“Yep, said the boy, “but there’ll come another’n some time, 
and I’ll win.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


49 


“Are you not beginning your campaign rather early?” 
asked Mr. Courtney. 

“Nope,” the urchin replied with decision, “the saloons is 
runnin’ their’n night and day, and I reckons if I’m agoin’ to 
lick ’em I got’r keep hustling. Y’er goin’ t’ vote fer me?” 

“How much a day do you get for being a sandwich man?” 
asked Mr. Courtney, ignoring the solicitation. 

“Whatcher mean?” 

“I mean, what do you get?” 

“I don’t get nothin’ les’n you fellers votes fer me.” 

“Come now,” coaxed Mr. Courtney, “who hired you?” 
“Oh, beat it!” snapped the boy. “I’m me own boss.” 
“Who gave you the sign?” 

“Folks don’t give cloth in dis town; I bought it.” 

Well, said Mr. Courtney, “I would have gotton it a little 
thicker for this weather.” 

“Couldn’t, mister; didn’t have de mon.” 

“How much did it cost you?” 

“I toted four bundles,” said the boy, “from Simon’s store 
to Seegers street.” 

“Why, that’s a mile.” 

“Cain’t hep it if it’s two, I done it.” 

“Tell me, little man,” said Mr. Courtney interestedly, 
“what is your idea?” 

“Well, mister,” said the boy, more earnestness in his pinched 
face than he could put in his words, “I heard a feller talkin’ 
on de street t’other night ’fore he ’lection, en he said ‘pro’bee- 
shun’s fetchin’ back the drunkard’s capital’; I’m tryin’ to set 
my pa up in business.” 

“What does your father do?” 

“Beats me, most principal,” said the boy, dropping his eyes. 
“Are you hungry?” inquired Mr. Courtney. 

“I was yisterday, but I kinder got used to it today.” 


50 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Tell the truth now,” cautioned his questioner, “when did 
you have your last meal?” 

“A baker give me a piece er pie yesteddy for totin’ out de 
ashes; dat’s de last,” said the boy convincingly. 

“Why did you not buy yourself something to eat instead 
of getting that cloth?” 

“Mister,” said the boy, and hardened to circumstances as 
he was, tears glistened in his bright blue eyes, “yer ain’t never 
been a drunkard’s boy, have ye?” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Courtney impatiently, “don’t let 
these street preachers make a fool of you; you’ll die exposing 
yourself in those rags. Throw that sign into the alley and 
come get a square meal.” 

“Sure, mister?” asked the boy, his face lighting like the sun 
peeping through the clouds on a dark day. 

“Yes, sure,” said Mr. Courtney. 

“Batty,” said the boy rubbing his stomach, “here’s where 
yer gets a real feed. Lead me to it, mister.” 

“Well, throw that rag away,” said Mr. Courtney, pointing 
to the sign. 

“What! throw dis away?” he asked incredulously. 

“Why yes, they won’t let 5^ou go in a restaurant and eat 
with that on.” 

“Why not? Yer kiddin’ me!” 

“No,” Mr. Courtney assured him, “they sell drinks in the 
restaurants and they wonit like it.” 

For some moments the boy stood looking at the man who 
had spoken kindly to him and invited him to eat ; hunger, which 
habit of abstinence had helped him to forget, had surged 
through him at the prospect of real, warm food ; but seeing in 
his friend no indication of jest he sighed. 

“I’m sorry, mister.” 

And wiping his old coat sleeve across his grimy face, he 
turned the corner and without looking back went his way. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


51 


Mr. Courtney stood watching the white sign of the sand- 
wich boy wind in and out among the passers until it had 
reached the middle of the next block. 

“The little fool!” he thought, starting on his way? But 
while waiting for the tide of travel to pass, the question re- 
turned to him: 

“Mister, yer ain’t never been a drunkard’s boy, have ye?” 

Slowly turning about, the great lawyer looked down the 
street but the boy had disappeared. Walking rapidly he sought 
in every direction, circling one block, then another and an- 
other, but there was no trace of the sandwich boy. 


52 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER IX 

AN INSISTENT SUBJECT 

''Who never doubted, never half believed. 

Where doubt there truth is — 'tis her shadow/^ 

U PON his own initiative, Courtney had suspended action 
in the foreclosure proceedings at the time of Gard- 
ner’s injury. At the same time instructions to his 
grocer kept the family supplied with necessities. When he 
learned from Dr. Morrison that the patient was progressing 
satisfactorily, he concluded that responsibility for longer disre- 
garding the instructions of his client was not incumbent. As 
he held the legal document in his hand, the memory of a long 
forgotten act of kindness made the duty particularly unpleas- 
ant. What was even more persistently disagreeable was the 
possible truth of Dr. Morrison’s theory that Gardner was 
mentally and physically diseased, and therefore helpless to resist 
the influences which created his circumstances. 

“Suppose Dr. Morrison is correct?” thought he. “Suppose 
Gardner is in reality a victim of social custom made possible 
and guaranteed by his government; that what I have believed 
was voluntary weakness, has become disease which has made 
him mentally and physically incapable of resisting the craving 
for drink and the demands of the saloon keeper?” 

Familiar with the laws of his state, he knew that the state 
undertakes to protect the person and property of the unfor- 
tunate insane. But if Dr. Morrison was correct, here was a 
case in which national and state governments had licensed 
Jacobi to sell Gardner a mental and physical disease-inducing 
poison which had impaired, perhaps destroyed, the whole of his 
productive capital — a brain to think and a body to work. And 
by statutory enactment the state had provided the means by 
which he was about to be deprived of the fruits of his years of 
productiveness by an act committed while mentally incapable of 
exercising protective judgment. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


53 


“What if Morrison is correct?” 

The sound of his voice aroused him as if it had been an 
unwelcome visitor ; he was annoyed with himself for permitting 
the improbable and impracticable theories of Dr. Morrison to 
disturb him. 

Having arrived at the conclusion that he would explain to 
Mr. Gardner the reluctance with which he was forced to pro- 
ceed, he had touched the call button for his stenographer, when 
the office boy entered with a card. 

“Show them in,” he directed, wondering what object Mrs. 
Harriet Malcom, president of the W. C. T. U., accompanied 
by her attorney, could have in paying him a visit. 

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Malcom,” 
greeted the attorney. “My friend. Dr. Morrison, greatly ad- 
mires you. Hello, Lawton!” 

“Perhaps,” replied Mrs. Malcom, that is due to the fact 
that I agree with Dr. Morrison. 

“I am glad his friendships are not confined to those who 
agree with him,” said Mr. Courtney. “In all the years of our 
acquaintance I can recall but one thing, our mutual friendship, 
upon which we have not in some measure differed, but pardon 
me, you have business.” 

“Mrs. James Gardner found this letter in her husband’s 
pocket only this morning,” said Mrs. Malcom, taking from her 
bag a soiled envelope. “It is her first information of the in- 
debtedness of which you write and she is greatly worried. When 
I took the matter to Mr. Lawton, he advised that we come to 
see you.” 

Unfolding the letter, Courtney recognized it as one written 
by himself a week before the day of Gardner’s injury. 

“Knowing of Mr. Gardner’s condition,” said he, “I have 
held up the proceedings, and hope very much that arrange- 
ments can be made by which foreclosure of the mortgage may 
be averted.”. 

“But,” protested the lady, “it would be an outrage to take 
this family’s home on such a debt.” 


54 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Is fraud suspected, Lawton?” he asked, turning to the 
attorney. 

“A fact,” said Mr. Lawton, “without evidence at present to 
prove. I have explained to Mrs. Malcom that you are helpless 
in the matter, but if you could postpone — ” 

“Why certainly, Lawton,” he quickly agreed. 

“That is very kind of you, Mr. Courtney,” said Mrs. Mal- 
com as she rose to leave. “In Mr. Gardner’s present condition 
he can give no information; Dr. Morrison has some hopes that 
he may improve, and — ” 

“Why,” he interrupted, “I understood from Morrison that 
he was recovering.” 

“Until yesterday he was improving, but erysipelas, so com- 
mon in such cases, has developed. He is very ill.” 

“Years ago I met Mr. Gardner,” said Courtney reminis- 
cently. “At that time there was a little girl — a beautiful child. 
Is she living?” 

“That is a sad story, Mr. Courtney. Liquor has robbed 
Mrs. Gardner of everything that a woman holds dear except 
her own clinging faith and character. Mr. Lawton will confer 
with you, and if possible I hope we can save her home.” 

“May I ask,” inquired Lawton, after the departure of his 
client, “what is the interest of the bank in this mortgage?” 

“Collateral, I presume,” replied Courtney. 

“You are aware, I assume, that the saloons operated by 
Jacobi are owned by the Gugenheim-Bunch Brewing Com- 
pany.” 

“No,” replied Courtney with evident surprise, “I did not 
know that.” 

“It developed in a recent trial in which I was attorney. 
This company and allied interests own the majority of the sa- 
loons in the city; the ward boss, Samuels, is a large stockholder, 
and the Dornham Bank is financial sponsor.” 

“I do not think, Lawton,” protested Mr. Courtney, “you 
are warranted in bunching the combination just in that way. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 5 > 

The bank, of course, is a financial institution for profit, and if 
this business is desirable I fail to see occasion for criticism. Mr. 
Dornham is opposed to prohibition, as are numerous others of 
us, but I am unwilling to believe that his political interests are 
identical with Samuels.” 

“I am unable to say just what Mr. Dornham’s interests 
are; I confess I have suspicions that they are not all banking 
and mines.” 

Upon the departure of Mrs. Malcom’s attorney, deter- 
mined to make some investigations on his own account, Mr. 
Courtney called his friend, Richard Horlick, cashier of the 
Dornham Bank and Trust Company, arranging for lunch to- 
gether at his club. 

“I understand, Horlick, you once had a bookkeeper in the 
bank by the name of Gardner,” said he. 

“Our chief accountant and general auditor.” 

“Tell me something about him.” , 

“Best ever!” said Horlick. 

“How did you lose him?” 

“John Barleycorn drafted him into his service.” 

“Could you use him again if he sobered up?” 

Mr. Horlick shook his head. 

“Not if he cuts it out?” Courtney persisted. 

“Too late, Courtney,” said the cashier; “he has gone to war 
and got licked — he’s a cripple ; heard the cannon roar too much 
up here (touching his head), and it won’t work; inaccurate — 
undependable.” 

“How long was he with you?” 

“Oh, ten — twelve years. He came from some little country 
town down the river and entered the bank about a year before 
I did. Beginning as a bookkeeper, by pure merit in three years 
he had gone to the top in the accounting department; I came 
as cashier and have kept my job by the combined pull of all 
my friends.” 

“You think his ‘come-back’ is all gone?” asked Courtney. 


56 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Oh, we tried to pull him through. Kept him even after 
his inefficiency was of daily evidence. He’s only a ‘has-been’ 
now.” 

“Did he make any effort to give up drink?” 

“Why, Courtney, he took every liquor cure known. I have 
heard him say, if he had a million dollars he’d give it all to 
be rid of his consuming thirst for drink.” 

“Consuming thirst,” jeered Courtney, “I have no patience 
with such drivel. A man should be a man.” 

“I’ll say this for him: he tried. Until a year ago when 
the boss cut it out, beer was served in our bank lunchroom and 
for some years after Gardner came he didn’t touch it, but when 
he did he seemed unable to control himself.” 

“Well, I believe just such weakness has caused most busi- 
ness concerns to put the ban on it,” said Courtney. 

“You ought to have heard Mr. Dornham make his tem- 
perance speech when we went in to get our last Christmas 
stocking. It’s been business with him. ‘While you draw your 
pay check from the Dornham bank,’ he said, ‘remember that 
booze is for the other fellow.’ And to make it more impressive, 
the very day he learned that Gardner had given a mortgage to 
old Jacobi he demanded that I discharge him. I tell you, it 
was one of the hardest things that has come my way, and when 
I saw Gardner walk out of the bank, a broken, defeated, dis- 
couraged man, right there I joined the blue ribbon crowd.” 

“Well, I am not ready to do that,” said Courtney, “until 
they reach a point more sane and practical than their present 
total abstinence and national prohibition idea. But that 
Gardner-Jacobi mortgage — that is what I wanted to know 
about. I have this instrument in my hands for foreclosure and 
I want to know just what relation the bank has to this and 
other mortgages of Jacobi handled by the bank.” 

“That business is transacted entirely through the trust de- 
partment; I can not say positively,” replied Horlick, “but I 
have reason to believe that the Bunch interests and Mr. Dorn- 
ham ’s are rather intimate.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


57 


For some moments Courtney was silent. 

“Well, your old employe will hardly apply for a job; he 
is quite ill.” 

“He has not recovered from his injury?” Horlick asked. 

“Nor likely to.” 

“Fm sorry; it’s a sad case. 

“I understand Morrison’s illustrative use of it has caused 
quite a stir in prohibition circles.” 

“Oh, do you know,” asked Horlick, “that Rose is going 
to have a wineless reception upon that approaching occasion 
momentous to your humble servant?” 

“Some of your new notions of voting to deprive others of 
that which you do not want, I presume?” 

“Not on your life; it’s Rose’s own idea.” 

“What does Mr. Roebstock think of a dry social function 
in his home? Some shock, I imagine, to the old gentleman.” 

“Well, you know Rose was expecting a scene when she 
proposed it. She had made up her little speech about it’s being 
her wedding, and her right to choose the refreshments and all 
that, and when she managed to screw up her courage to broach 
the subject, her father was delighted ; said he would put the 
price into a baby grand, rugs, and a lot of stuff Rose says we’ll 
need.” 

“But Horlick,” Courtney argued, “has Miss Roebstock 
considered the possible effect it may have upon her social posi- 
tion? It is something no woman who values that has yet 
dared to do in Brewerton.” 

“Truth is, strange as it may seem in this age of social 
scrimmage. Rose is indifferent to the approval or disapproval 
of society in the matter; says it’s a matter of conscience with 
her and argues the case no further.” 

“Well,” said Courtney, “the confounded subject has bobbed 
up in front of me one way or another for the past few weeks 
everywhere I turn. I presume Morrison will be pleased at 
Miss Roebstock’s decision.” 

“Why I take it, he’s the cause of it. We’ve all been ac- 


58 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


cepting liquor and its work as a matter of course, I suppose. 
WeVe excused the weak ones of our set and condemned the 
down and out ones of other sets. I have attended several of 
the doctor’s lectures with Rose and her father, and the way he 
bunches us all together in one great poison squad is rather dis- 
concerting — especially when I remember the looks of Gardner 
the day he walked out of the bank. Rose may have to stand 
the gaff deeper than she thinks, but since she is doing it upon 
her own motion, I confess I am not displeased and will see her 
through.” 

“Well, I wish you as little rough sledding as possible, but 
it seems to me that Morrison is simply creating a temporary 
sentiment which will cause trouble for some and bring good to 
no one.” 

Returning to his office, Mr. Courtney could not dismiss the 
unpleasant subject from his thoughts, and the more he evolved 
it, the more impatient he became with his friend Dr. Morrison 
for his impracticable method of reforming what he himself had 
to acknowledge to be a sore spot in the social and economic 
fabric. Knowing that the doctor would probably call at the 
Gardner home about nightfall, he concluded to call then, in- 
quire after the sick man and take Dr. Morrison home with him 
for supper. He would have a plain talk with him about his 
irrational methods. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


59 


CHAPTER X 

THE FRUIT OF A DANGEROUS THEORY 

"'Hark! to the hurried question of Despair: 

"Where is my child?' — an echo answers — 

"Where?' " 

^ S contemplated, Mr. Courtney found the doctor by the 
j \ bedside of his patient, and was quick to perceive the 
battle with death which was being waged. As he 
entered the room, Mr. Gardner moaned: 

“Somehow, the sheet won’t balance, Mr. Horlick.” Lift- 
ing his shaking hand to the throbbing temple he groaned: “O, 
my head! But I’ll get it — you know I always do, Mr. Hor- 
lick — I’ll have the balance ready for Mr. Dornham when he 
comes.” 

Trying to conceal the tremor in her voice, Mrs. Gardner 
bent over her husband: 

“Yes, James, that’s all right, dear; don’t worry, my poor, 
dear James!” 

For a time the patient slept, his breathing became easier 
and Mrs. Gardner, worn and exhausted, reclining in her chair 
closed her eyes. In her troubled slumber she murmured the 
name of her daughter. 

“O Dolly! Little girl, is that you?” exclaimed Mr. Gard- 
ner. 

In his delirium he was back once more in the rose covered 
cottage in the Mississippi valley and the little blue-eyed “Dolly 
Darden” was there. His words were tender with love, but to 
the sorrowing mother they were the breaking of a new fountain 
of tears. 

“Don’t cry, Dolly, little girl,” he comforted, “you’ve been 
lost — lost so long in the Great Swamp, and you’re so muddy — 
and look ; your hands and feet are bleeding. O, my little Dolly 
there’s a great gash right over your heart! The thorns, the 
thorns!” 


60 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


Except for the more labored breathing, the patient lay 
quiet, while Mrs. Gardner sobbed her uncontrollable grief. 
Mr. Courtney had walked to the window. There was only the 
glow of the fire in the room and he was looking out into the 
• cold night. From the leaden sky, which he had observed as he 
entered, large fluffy flecks of snow were now falling and as he 
peered into the gloom a woman alighting from a taxi at the 
corner walked rapidly toward the house. At the entrance she 
stopped, looked up and down the street, then slowly opened the 
gate, drawing back as if frightened, she let it swing shut. Star- 
tled by the slight click of the closing latch, she walked rapidly 
some paces down the street, but as if irresistibly drawn to the 
house came slowly back. For some minutes she stood irreso- 
lute, then in abandoned despair threw her arms wildly above 
her head and leaning upon the gate her body was convulsed 
with sobs. 

Again Mr. Gardner spoke, more feebly now: 

“Don’t cry, Dolly, little girl. The night has been so dark 
— so dark. But you’re home now, Doll — , Dolly!” he ex- 
claimed, as if the child was being torn from him. “Come back, 
Dolly — come back! It’s so dark — and cold — and I can not 
see you, Dolly. Come — back!” 

As the doctor gently felt his pulse, he gave a start: 

“Yes, Mr. Horlick, I’ll — I’ll have the balance sheet — for 
Mr. Dornham — by the time — he — comes,” he panted. 

The woman at the gate reached out her hands toward the 
house in pleading gesture, and with eyes upturned to heaven 
she stood for a moment, then covering her face she hurried 
down the street. 

Quickly determining to follow her, Courtney silently left 
the room overtaking her just as she was in the act of entering 
the taxi. 

“Who are you? What do you want?” she indignantly 
demanded in answer to his interruption. 

Introducing himself, he replied kindly: 

“I am a friend of your family and would like to help you.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


61 


“Who do you think I am, sir?” she asked. 

“You are Dorothy Gardner,” said he. “I was watching 
you from the window, while you were at your father’s gate. In 
his delirium he is calling for you. Your father is dying.” 

Convinced of the sincerity of his purpose, she led him out 
of hearing of the chauffeur of the car. 

“Did you say my father is ill — dying?” she asked. 

“He will probably not live through the night; come before 
it is too late,” he urged. 

“Did you say he was calling for me?” 

“He was living again in the days of your childhood and 
calling you his ‘Dolly Darden.’ ” 

“Don’t, don’t! For God’s sake don’t; I can’t bear it,” she 
cried. “Please leave me!” 

“You must come at once to your father.” 

“Is my mother? — ” she sobbed, unable to finish her in- 
quiry. 

“She is heart-broken; come,” he pleaded, “and comfort her.” 

“No, I can not; you’ve tried to be kind. Now please go,” 
she begged between sobs. 

“I will noc,” said Courtney, taking her by the arm; “you 
must go.” 

“Will you force me to use this?” she asked, drawing a short 
dagger from under her coat. “I came with the purpose of let- 
ting them find me on the steps in the morning; but not just yet 
— unless you force me to return.” 

“Where are you going?” he asked, seeing further effort 
useless. 

“To the world that society has given me,” she replied; 
“at present to the Union Station.” 

“I will go with you to the station,” said he, “I wish to 
talk with you.” 

“Upon one condition; that you do not spy upon me.” 

He led her to a secluded table in the railway dining room 
where she sank tremblingly into a seat. 


62 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Please order something to drink, quick,” she begged, “I’m 
all in.” 

For the first time Mr. Courtney had opportunity to observe 
her personal appearance, and while retaining a very distinct 
memory of the lustrous blue eyes of the child, he was not 
prepared for the superb beauty of the woman before him. The 
dark rings which dissipation had placed under her eyes seemed 
but to accentuate their beauty, and her voice was mellow with 
its soft southern accent. Yet there was that undefinable some- 
thing which, even to a stranger, betrayed her tragedy ; like the 
rose into which has crept some loathesome insect, the fragrance 
was gone. 

Having gained her confidence by respectful courtesy to 
which she no longer laid claim as a woman’s right, Dorothy 
replied frankly to Mr. Courtney’s questions, though the pain in 
her admissions was perceptibly keen. 

“You ask me,” she said, “what caused my ruin. I believe 
you are clean and on the level, and I’ll tell you.” Lifting her 
second glass to her lips she drained and refilled it. Holding 
it up she said: 

“There. There it is! As God is my witness, there it is!” 

“O,” said he impatiently, “I did not ask the excuse. What 
I would like to know is how a woman of your kind reaches 
this.” 

“Listen!” she replied. “Had it not been for drink I would 
tonight be as pure as when first I lay upon my mother’s breast. 
My father was drinking heavily and I was very miserable when 
he began bringing home with him friends whom he met in the 
saloons. Some of them were young men above my social posi- 
tion and I v/as pleased with their attention; I was human — 
but I was pure. At a mask ball which I attended with young 
Phil Dornham I took my first glass of wine. Other ladies of a 
social class in which I had never hoped to mingle, were drink- 
ing freely, and who was I to set at naught their customs?” 

“But ” 

“Wait,” she interrupted. “I don’t claim that there was 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


63 


compelling evil in that glass, but let me finish. I do know 
that from that evening father’s drunkenness became less offens- 
ive to me. That night I met Cecil Baker.” 

As she spoke the name, Dorothy’s eyes dropped, her voice 
became husky and for a moment a tear trembled on her long 
lash, then wet her cheek. 

“It was the beginning of his love making, in which I was 
unwise enough to believe,” she continued. “Our wine suppers 
were frequent. Like other women of Cecil’s friends who often 
dined with us, I was often intoxicated. During this experience 
my ideas of life and social customs were undergoing a change 
which I now know w^as ruinous. Still I was virtuous. But 
I fell deeply in love with Cecil. When he proposed a secret 
marriage and residence in another city I consented.” 

“Then you were married to Baker?” he exclaimed. 

“A marriage ceremony was performed and I believed I was 
married and was very happy, but when my condition became 
such that he tired of me he laughed in my face, saying he 
thought I knew it was a joke, and offered me money!” 

Covering her face in her hands she sobbed convulsively. 

“The damned, dirty cur!” exclaimed Courtney, rising. 

Pouring herself another glass of champagne, she said: 

“Tracing it back, it looks like this was not the excuse, as 
you suggest, but the source of my trouble; and now it is my 
only solace. You see why I can not return to my mother. I 
do not wish to see my father. You’ve tried — you’ve been kind; 
continue it by keeping this meeting secret and not trying to 
find me.” 

As an east-bound train was called she made her way out 
into the great noisy shed where shuttling trains wove the woof 
and warp of vari-colored human purpose. 

Next morning as Courtney stopped in front of the Gardner 
home crepe hung upon the door. One side of the balance sheet 
was made up. 


64 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XI 

A SEAT IN CONGRESS 

''When more is meant than meets the ear!" 

F letcher BABSON was one of the inheritances which 
Mr. Dornham valued most highly. He had succeeded 
his father as personal counsellor to the banker, and for 
twenty years he had been the legal mentor and personal friend, 
perhaps the only friend Mr. Dornham had in the world. In 
all Mr. Dornham ’s business, and in most of his personal af- 
fairs, Babson, only ten years his junior, was known as the voice, 
the shadow, the service station of the dynamic Dornham force. 
It was but natural, therefore, that Mr. Dornham should be 
disappointed, even angered by the obdurate objection of Helen 
to the closer union of their interests, by her union with Fletcher 
Babson, the desire second only to the one dominating purpose 
of his life. 

That he loved Helen could not be doubted, yet an attitude 
of cordiality was as nearly an approach to affection as her 
father had ever been able to display. Her acts of filial devo- 
tion were repaid with gifts, regardless of price, of whatever he 
imagined would appeal to her taste or wishes. It was his only 
known method of showing appreciation. That the heart could 
crave more was incomprehensible to him; and that these very 
treasures brought tears of loneliness to a heart that craved 
for love was a truth which his wildest imagination could not 
have conceived. 

That marriage should be other than a business arrange- 
ment was unreasonable and unwise, and his duty to his daugh- 
ter demanded that he direct her in the way of wisdom. Upon 
the day Helen had defied his wishes, he had considered his 
parental responsibility, and when he rose from his desk his 
program was fixed. 

During the afternoon Helen received a long letter from 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


65 


David, while she was being comforted and encouraged by her 
dearest friend, Rose Roebstock, and together they devoured it. 

“Dave is right, Helen,” said Rose. “It is best for him 
not to call too often until your father has time to think it 
over. Mr. Dornham will come around all right in the end.” 

“You don’t know. Dad, Rose; he is so determined.” 

“O, yes I do, Helen, and I know Dave Courtney and the 
girl that loves him and I have a notion they are going to show 
some mind of their own if it becomes necessary.” 

“But I’ve promised father not to marry without his con- 
sent,” said Helen dejectedly. 

“And you’ll get it, too, when the time comes,” Rose as- 
sured her. “But now since you have this comforting missive 
I’ll be going. Don’t forget that next Saturday is my wedding 
day and you are to help me decorate; I am not going to let 
my ‘best lady’ take all the honors for beauty on that great occa- 
sion without doing some of the work.” 

“Work will be good for me.” 

“And think, you’ll sure see Dave then, since you two are 
to be the important supporting pair.” 

The contracting parties were not more impatient for the 
arrival of the wedding day than were David and Helen. Mr. 
Dornham had refrained from any reference to his rejection of 
Courtney’s proposal, or his disastrous interview with Helen. 
Upon the contrary he had exercised his brain in ways and 
means of pleasing her, among other things surprising her with 
a new electric coupe, and the suggestion of a winter at Palm 
Beach. “Never drive if you can lead,” was a maxim which 
he both preached and practiced. 

Just how to impose his objection on Courtney, and retain 
his co-operation in his larger plans and purposes, was a ques- 
tion which had given him more concern. In his experience 
with Courtney, he had not failed to discover his unyielding 
temperament and an independence which at times vexed him. 


66 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


But Mr. Dornham was selfish and he was unwilling to be 
deprived of that which was useful to him. 

Therefore on the evening of the Roebstock-Horlick wed- 
ding, when David called for Helen, Mr. Dornham’s plans were 
fixed and he received him in the most cordial manner. 

“I was very much pleased to learn today, Mr. Courtney,” 
said he, “that you are slated in this district to succeed Beeker 
in the next congress.” 

“Why, I thank you, Mr. Dornham, for your expression of 
approval of the rumor, but there is nothing to it,” replied 
Courtney. “I could not even consider the matter.” 

“It is not always wise to disregard the political demands 
of one’s community,” urged the banker. 

“I hardly think it could be called a demand, Mr. Dorn- 
ham.” 

“Well, as you know, I take very little part in politics, but 
I am informed that there was almost a stampede of the Citizens 
and Taxpayers League to you in the last election and that 
nothing can prevent it in the next. You know the endorsement 
of that organization means success. The only thing necessary 
is to keep the league intact and combat certain disturbing ques- 
tions which may develop. And certainly it is going to devolve 
upon our strongest men to maintain the equilibrium of the 
business and political pendulum.” 

The entrance of Helen prevented Courtney’s reply, what- 
ever it might have been. For a moment she stopped upon the 
lower step of the broad stairway and as David rose she stood 
framed in the silken folds of the portiere. 

“Ah, my daughter!” exclaimed Mr. Dornham in genuine 
admiration, “I’m proud of you.” 

“Oh, Dad!” she exclaimed, clasping her arms around his 
neck, “I have always been conceited enough to believe you 
were, but that’s the first time you ever told me.” 

“O, I don’t know about that,” replied her father, “some- 
times words are very meaningless.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


67 


“That’s true, Dad,” said Helen, sorry for her words, “you 
have told me in a thousand v/ays, but this sounds so good 1 
must give you an extra kiss for it.” 

“Perhaps I do forget sometimes — ^why. I’m about to do so 
now,” said he, feeling in his pocket. “Here, I think this 
trinket will look better on you than the one you’re wearing.” 
And he clasped around her lovely throat a superb necklace of 
pearls. 

“O, you dear old Dad!” exclaimed Helen. “How per- 
fectly it goes with my gown! and how on earth could you 
have known. I am sure I have not talked in my sleep ! Look 
Da — Mr. Courtney!” she checked herself. 

“It is appropriate for its queenly setting,” said David, with 
a warmth quickly detected by Mr. Dornham. 

“Well, it wouldn’t do to let a little thing like a string of 
beads delay a wedding. Run along and put away what you 
are not going to wear,” and he leaned forward for Helen to 
kiss his cheek. 

“I hope,” said he as Helen left the room, “she will never 
be in a position to be denied anything that wealth can supply. 

“Or,” responded Courtney, “that the heart can wish.” 

“The heart is not always a safe guide for what is best 
for us.” 

“But,” replied David, “nevertheless the most potent factor 
in life in the quest for happiness.” 

Upstairs, Helen stood before her mirror holding in her 
hand the diamond lavalliere she had removed from her neck. 
She was genuinely enjoying the magnificence of the gift she 
had just received, but as she unlocked her jewel casket to re- 
place the discarded ornament the disgust of satiation marred 
her pleasure. 

“O,” she sighed, “for just a little simple love!” 

“Helen,” exclaimed David as they entered his car and he 
pressed her to his bosom, “as you stood in the folds of that 


68 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


curtain, you were the most beautiful creature IVe ever seen; 
the scene will remain — ” 

“Hush, Dave!” she interrupted, coyly, “the supply was 
completely exhausted by Dad.” 

“Well, ‘Dad’ seems more generous this evening than you 
are; he gives you the wealth of the seas and offers me a seat 
in congress. Perhaps he means to recompense us for what he 
has denied us, but I don’t quite like the new tactics.” 

“I hope he’ll come around all right by and by,” sighed 
Helen. “How did he receive your proposal to relieve him of 
his daughter?” 

“Very courteously, indeed,” said David. “Expressed his 
sincerest appreciation of the compliment paid to him and his 
daughter, but regretted that I had wrongly interpreted her 
feelings toward me, and in a kindly business-like way advised 
me to dismiss the thought from my mind.” 

“Which you very promptly did,” she teased. 

“Your wise father has somewhat to learn, I think.” 

“Now don’t get cross with Dad, Dave; I am sure he is 
thinking only of my happiness, however much he may be mis- 
taken.” 

“Undoubtedly true,” agreed David, “but as he said just 
now, he does not think the heart is a safe guide ; he insists upon 
applying banking rules, Helen, I don’t like this new turn your 
father has taken; he orders you to dismiss me from your 
thoughts, yet offers me honors for which I care nothing. It is 
you and only you and your love I want.” 

“Why, were you discussing the matter this evening?” 

“O, no; it was only a remark for my benefit. By the way 
Horlick tells me he saw a real victorious queen come out of 
the ‘throne room’ that morning.” 

“Dick shall be discharged for divulging bank secrets.” 

“Well, he said something, being a Republican, you may 
not like.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


69 


“The tell-tale-tattler talks, talks talks,” she quoted. 
“What’s the gossip’s tale?” 

“He says you certainly wore the winning Wilson look.” 
“The rascal!” pouted Helen. “Just view my landscape 
jaws. Really,” she continued, “I was very sorry that occurred. 
It seems you had just left Dad and he had not had time to get 
used to our notions, so he said some things which I think he 
did not mean and I said some other things which I did mean — 
Ah!” exclaimed Helen, at the moment coming in view of the 
Roebstock home, “isn’t the illumination lovely?” 


70 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XII 

A SOCIAL JOLT 

''Great things astonish us, and small dishearten : 

Custom , makes both familiar/^ 

T he wedding of Rose Roebstock and Richard Horlick 
was the social event of the season and the first of a series 
staged for the midwinter months. It was an occasion 
to which society had been looking forward with keenest inter- 
est, and the innovation of a wineless reception was a social 
shock which the guests were illy prepared to receive. Famed 
as the manufacturing center of alcoholic beverages in the Uni- 
ted States, Brewerton had grown powerful in a wealth in- 
tolerant of ideals other than the enthronement of Bacchus, and 
a social function at which he failed to preside was considered 
both impolite and a breach of hospitality. 

The restraint which pervaded the early hours of the eve- 
ning was, therefore, but a natural sequence. The question had 
been discussed with various shades of opinion in groups and 
pairs, but not until the wedding banquet was in progress did 
it impress itself as a dry reality. It was generally assumed that 
at least one course of light wine would be served with which 
to drink the health of the wedding pair, but as the last course 
was being removed and neighbors were asking each other, 
“What will it be?” Dr. Morrison arose and held aloft his 
glass : 

“Somewhere in the great realm of thought,” said he, “it is 
written that when the earth was formed and light was sep- 
arated from darkness, only turbid waters flowed through the 
valley of Eden, of which Adam drank and was satisfied; but 
when Eve awoke beside her mate she thirsted, but from the 
murky stream drew back and would not drink. A pitying an- 
gel looking down upon the most beautiful of created beings, 
winged his way above the clouds and plucking from the 
vaulted heavens a star, flung it into space. Striking upon the 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


71 


pinnacle of Mount Everest, it broke asunder and wherever a 
fragment fell upon the earth there sprang forth a spring of 
crystal water purifying all streams. From these, our Mother 
Eve, bending o’er their verdure-covered banks, mirrored therein 
the supreme handiwork of God, and drank; then watched flow 
on to bless the race of man. 

“From one of these — of heaven’s classic fountains — we 
drink the health our purest, sweetest hope of bride and groom.” 

As the doctor concluded, spontaneous applause greeted the 
toast while a two-step announced the opening dance. 

Dr. Moreland, the officiating clergyman, genuinely de- 
lighted with the evening, congratulated Mr. Roebstock and 
Mr. Horlick upon breaking a custom which he had reluctantly 
concluded was pernicious, and as he smilingly mingled among 
the young company warmly supported the innovation. 

“You will feel better tomorrow young ladies and gentle- 
men,” said he, coming upon a group and divining the subject 
of conversation. 

“Doctor Moreland,” said Hubert Mycliff, “I’ve just made 
a wager of five dollars to go to your community work if I can 
not repeat one of your texts of more than six months ago.” 

“I am complimented, Hubert,” said the divine. “Do you 
wish me to decide the question?” 

“It was during Lenten season, and the text was, ^And in 
hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torment.’ Am I right?” 

“I do indeed remember that sermon, the text of which you 
have correctly recited,” replied the rector, “and I am gratified 
that it left such lasting impression. Now do you recall who 
the subject of that discourse was, and why he was tormented?” 

“Why, er — eh — his name was Abraham — no. Hades.” 

“Is he correct?” Dr. Moreland smilingly appealed to the 
group. 

There was no answer; Molly Singleton giggled. 

“It seems, that no one knows,” laughed the minister. 

“That’s not the question. Dr. Moreland,” explained Hu- 


72 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


bert. “I was only trjnng to prove to the ignoramuses that we 
are not the first people to suffer/’ 

It may not be the first, but this is the most abominable sit- 
uation I have dropped into in some time,” complained Cecil 
Baker to Ralph English, as the little company separated. “How 
on earth are we to get through with it?” 

“Oh, I think I’ll manage to live through the experience all 
right until I reach the club; but believe me, it’s the hardest 
social jolt John Barleycorn has had in my experience.” 

“You needn’t worry about John Barleycorn, he’ll take care 
of himself and don’t you forget it; it’s the personal equation 
that bothers me. I’m as dry as a powder horn and as dull as 
a meat ax. I can’t make conversation.” 

“Perhaps what you do make,” teased Ralph, “you will re- 
member.” 

“Yes,” growled Cecil, “and if I should happen to say just a 
little something which some tempting femininity should think I 
ought not to say. I’ll not have my friend John B. to make 
excuses for me.” 

“Condoling each other?” inquired Mrs. Richards, joining 
the young men. 

“Well, er ” 

“No excuse necessary,” said she; “for my part, I think it is 
very silly as well as presumptuous for a young bride to try to 
break down old standards and set up new social customs. Rose 
will probably repent when it is too late.” 

“The frost The Dispatch will give her in the morning will 
probably make. her sit up,” said Cecil. 

“Oh,” exclaimed Mrs. Richards, “there is Dr. Morrison 
speaking with Rose; I understand they are quite chummy.” 

“Indeed!” said Cecil, shrugging his shoulders, “I wonder 
what the high-minded Courtney thinks of his friend’s interest 
in the bride?” 

“O, you naughty boy! You try to twist everybody’s mean- 
ing. What has become of the blue-eyed belle you were raving 
over some months ago — what was her name?” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


73 


“I believe I have quite forgotten it,” said Cecil. “But 
really, if she had not insisted upon spoiling those eyes with 
tears, they were the greatest ever.” 

“So, the great heart-breaking time has come, has it? Oh, 
you wicked boy! Now I am going to leave you,” laughed Mrs. 
Richards, “I want to meet Dr. Morrison and discover the at- 
traction.” 

“Oh, Dr. Morrison,” she exclaimed, as Mrs. Horlick pre- 
sented the doctor, “that was such an exquisite toast; where 
did you find it?” 

“In the bride’s face; where else could it be?” gallantly re- 
plied the doctor, joining her in a promenade. 

“I understand you and Rose are great friends?” 

“She and Mr. Horlick were among my first acquaintances 
in the city and have very graciously admitted me to their 
friendship,” replied the doctor. 

“Well,” persisted Mrs. Richards, “it must have required 
quite an influence to have accomplished this dry occasion.” 

“As to the exclusion of wine this evening I disclaim any 
credit,” Dr. Morrison replied. “I think more people than wc 
imagine are willing to do the same and right thing when they 
understand what it is.” 

“But don’t you think such radical infringement of a social 
custom established generations before Rose was born will react 
injuriously to real temperance?” 

“I have not consulted Mrs. Horlick as to her motives, but 
am unable to anticipate the injury.” 

“Why don’t you know that every one of us who is ac- 
customed to stimulants on such occasions, and that means all 
of us, feeling so terribly let down, will take a larger quantity 
v/hen we return to our homes? And the men will be posi- 
tively intemperate at their clubs.” 

Dr. Morrison observed the lady interestedly. 

“Have you children, Mrs. Richards?” he asked. 

“Only one,” she replied sadly. “We never speak of our 
poor boy.” 


74 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“I beg pardon!” quickly apologized the doctor. 

“O, it is different you know v/ith physicians,” she replied 
reassuringly. “The poor child’s trouble is mental — ^Ah, here 
comes Arthur Wayne! Why, Mr. Wayne, I thought you 
were in New York; meet Dr. Morrison, Mr. Wayne.” 

“Ah, Doctor — er — . Why yes, I returned from the 
drought, you see!” said Mr. Wayne, leading Mrs. Richards 
into the conservatory. 

“Why, Arthur,” she mildly protested, “you were positively 
rude to Dr. Morrison.” 

“That fellow must be put down.” 

“He’s not good for your glass business, is he?” she laughed. 
“That’s what Mr. Richards says about him, too. Thinks his 
engraving business may lose some labels I think. I don’t be- 
lieve you’ll have as easy a time disposing of him as you have 
had with most of the disturbers of your peace.” 

“He’s like all the rest of them, a fake at bottom and if the 
truth were known, drinks as much as I do,” said the glass 
manufacturer. 

“Does his friend, Mr. Courtney think he’s a Dr. Jekyl and 
Mr. Hyde?” Mrs. Richards inquired. 

“O, no ; I wouldn’t even like to have Dave know I said that ; 
he thinks he’s only a sort of hairbrain enthusiast, but I know 
the breed.” 

“Well, he’s your problem, remember my words — but the 
guests are leaving.” 

As he and Helen stood with the bride and groom bidding 
the guests good night, Courtney was astonished at their expres- 
sions of universal approval of the evening’s innovation. 

“My dear Rose,” said Mrs. Richards in her most gracious 
manner, “we are so indebted to you for this delightful eve- 
ning and I hope we shall learn by your splendid example. 
Good night, dearie!” 

Mrs. Horlick had counted the cost, or thought she had, of 
affront to the ancient god and she was willing to pay the price. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


7S 


These evidences of support and approval vrere, therefore sec- 
ond only to the supreme happiness of the day. 

“Oh, wasn’t Rose a lovely bride?” exclaimed Helen as they 
were making their departure. 

“I know of only one who will be more beautiful,” agreed 
David. 

“And,” said Helen, ignoring the compliment, “such a per- 
fectly delightful reception! It is the first I have ever attended 
where intoxicants were not served and it was so refreshing 
to be free from the odor of drink and its annoying influence 
upon some of the men.” 

“Yes, if Morrison keeps propagating his total abstinence 
theories he will famish us all.” 

“God speed the day!” said Helen solemnly. 

“Well, what has gone wrong with the world anyway?” 
exclaimed Courtney. “Until recently we never heard of the 
‘destroying evil’ except by some fanatic whom one could avoid ; 
but for the past few months the abominable subject has met 
me like the death-head on the druggists ’s label at every turn.” 

“Perhaps it has been here all the while and we have not 
seen it. I know when I thought a tipsy man was amusing, 
but it is tragedy now; I am worried about Phil.” 

“O don’t fret about Phil; he’s only planting his little 
crop.” 

“To reap tares, I fear,” replied Helen, “Phil is a fine, gen- 
erous boy but he is changing so. He seldom comes home be- 
fore midnight now; and often in a bad way, and father is so 
impatient with the dear boy.” 

“I confess,” admitted David, “that some things have 
forced themselves upon me recently which, while not of them- 
selves convincing, have disturbed my former very settled opin- 
ions to some extent. Morrison insists that my opinions are not 
convictions, but only traditions and has challenged my intelli- 
gence, as he puts it. He offers to prove that alcohol within 
itself is an evil, being a deterrent of both body and brain and 
as resistless as any lurking germ that inflicts the human race. 


76 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


I know this to be a preposterous statement, and I have declined 
to waste my time with it.” 

“Dr. Morrison tells me his next lecture is to be on ‘Al- 
coholic Mental Degeneracy;’ I invite you to take me.” 

“I will make the scamp lecture every evening,” laughed 
David. “This lecture is probably connected with his proposed 
demonstration.” 

“In what manner does he make the test?” 

“He wants me to select three subjects; one a heavy drinker; 
one habitual, but temperate, and the other one who barely es- 
capes the odium of being a teetotaler. He proposes to feed 
them on liquor of varying strength and observe its action. If 
I consent, I am going to select Kenneth Wardlow for the last.” 

“O, Dave!” protested Helen. “Get someone else.” 

“No, he insists that I with himself am to drink Apollinaris 
and colored water, and if I am to take any such persecution I 
propose to give his boasted demonstration a knockout blow, 
and I know Kenneth is one man that John B. can’t unhorse.” 

“If any man can hold his own, I believe it will be Ken- 
neth,” said Helen, “I will be anxious to know the result.” 

“And I will be more anxious for Bob’s next lecture, since I 
am not to see you until then. Your father is a mystery, Helen. 
I don’t understand him.” 

“I presume patience is our present most important culture,” 
said she. 

“I can not be patient, Helen. Through these years that I 
have loved you more than my life, I have chafed at circum- 
stances which made the declaration of my love unfair to you, 
and now when I have won that success which justifies me in 
speaking, and you have given me your love it is not human to 
be patient. Your father is unreasonable.” 

“Don’t, Dave,” pleaded Helen, looking up into his impa- 
tient eyes. “Don’t feel bitter against Dad; he does not un- 
derstand. Father never has understood me; but he is so noble 
and good. I know he is thinking only of my happiness. Let 
us be patient and wait.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


77 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE BANKER MOBILIZES HIS FORCES 

"Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colors wave!” 

T O THE mobilization of the vast forces of Alcohol, Mr. 
Babson’s energies were now entirely devoted. Week 
after week the propaganda of sentiment by and through 
the subtle influence of the name of Philip Dornham, philan- 
thropist, had progressed with uninterrupted precision. Shrewdly, 
resourcefully and with studied system Babson had perfected or- 
ganization in every city and town on proportions and with 
efficiency which had never before been conceived. For Fletcher 
Babson in one respect was Biblical; he did not permit himself 
to be deceived in his antagonist. He knew the history of Al- 
cohol and the antagonisms in its pursuit of gain, but he knew 
that for the first time in all history, business, science and relig- 
ion had formed an alliance; that civilization had decreed its 
death, and against this far-flung battle line he had set his task. 
Babson was not only of that lineage and training which breeds 
a love of contest, but his association with the Dornham power 
had inspired him to brook no failure, and now with his supreme 
ambition and chief desire of making Helen Dornham his wife 
still unfulfilled, he faced what he knew to be not only a life 
or death struggle for the fulfillment of Mr. Dornham’s ambi- 
tion, but also for his own hopes. For Philip Dornham excused 
no failure. 

And while at times he suggested to his chief the possibility 
of defeat, his war cry to his assistants was vibrant with certain 
victory, and every plan was laid upon the foundation of as- 
surance. 

“The organization is now perfect, Mr. Dornham,” said he, 
presenting his condensed report to the banker, “and ten years — 
even three years ago I would have been confident of our over- 
whelming success. Whether we shall be able to overcome the 


78 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


new system of the opposition and check the rapidly changing 
sentiment towards the business, only the future can tell.” 

“To what do you refer as the new system?” asked the 
banker. 

“Perhaps that is not just the right term, but the time has 
not been long since we were content to pay only passing heed 
to what we termed the ravings of irresponsible zealots who 
raised their voices against us. It is no longer so; I am not 
exceeding facts when I say the majority of the brainiest and 
most influential business and professional men of the country 
are more or less actively opposed to alcoholic beverages, and 
their opposition is both intelligent and convincing.” 

“Were it not for these facts, Fletcher, we would not require 
the enormous sum of money we are raising; it is for that very 
purpose, and with it we will cure this discord.” 

“We must not forget, Mr. Dornham, that conditions gen- 
erally are not what they are in Brewerton where we have 
but one newspaper which even mildly advocates prohibition, 
one physician who is actively opposing us, and where the influ- 
ence of the brewery and the saloon have been dominant since 
the memory of man.” 

“Have you not yet discovered the price of that fellow, 
Walton?” 

“Declining to accept our advertisements,” replied Babson, 
“your theory of purchasing the editorial columns is ineffective. 
You understand, Mr. Dornham, Walton is not opposed to 
the legal sale of liquor, but he is opposed to the political influ- 
ence of the brewery and the saloon. Seeing no way to correct 
a condition which he believes is dangerous, he says the only 
other thing to do is to stop the traffic.” 

“This is only one instance, there may be a few others,” re- 
plied the banker, with his usual determination, “where we will 
have to force him into submission. Find out his financial con- 
nections.” 

“I hope you will understand me, Mr. Dornham,” said 
Babson apologetically. “I am speaking now with the caution 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


79 


of an attorney preparing his case, and within these closed doors 
we must be frank with ourselves. Editors as a class can not be 
bought. I am using them in an effective way through your 
benevolences, but it is about all we can expect from the press. 
There are, of course, exceptions.” 

Fletcher Babson knew he was crossing his chief’s opinion 
at its most vital point, and while he was unwilling to assume 
responsibility for what he knew was impossible, he was unpre- 
pared for the display of impatience, even temper, evidenced by 
his employer. 

“Enough of this discouragement, Fletcher,” he peremptorily 
commanded. “I will not hear it! Who, I ask, better than I, 
knows the value of money? I tell you the man has not been 
born who hasn’t a price, if only the correct approach is found.” 

At the moment an evening paper was laid upon Mr. Bab- 
son’s desk. 

“Why! What have we here?” he exclaimed, pointing to 
the featured story. 

“What!” Mr. Dornham fairly screamed. “Scanlan in- 
troducing a prohibition bill!” 

Within ten minutes Mr. Dornham had Senator Scanlan on 
his private telephone wire, fortunately uncensored. While 
somewhat reconciled, at the end of the volcanic conversation 
he was distinctly disquieted. 

When Senator Scanlan introduced his bill known as the 
“Scanlan Amendment” providing drastic federal prohibition of 
interstate shipments of alcoholic beverages into those states 
which by legislative enactment prohibited such shipments, opin- 
ion among opponents of prohibition was much divided as to the 
wisdom of such a move. As later developed. Senator Scanlan, 
although the representative of the brewery interests in the 
higher branch of the national Congress, had not consulted this 
particular constituency. In a fit of fretful anger the senator 
introduced the bill, thinking it a shrewd move to test the 
theory not only of himself, but the theory which Alcohol had 
long flung into the face of prohibitionists that they lacked sin- 


80 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


cerity and would decline support of law which would actually 
effectuate the theory of prohibition. Confidently he expected 
to see the bill promptly buried by prohibitionists, thereby ex- 
posing the insincerity of their motive and effectively placing a 
period at prohibition agitation in the national Congress. 

Immediately following the introduction of his bill, Senator 
Scanlan was distinctly encouraged, advising Mr. Dornham that 
his “bait” was being swallowed. But during those days prohi- 
bitionists were slowly recovering from their shock. Had the 
vote been taken upon the day of the introduction of the bill, 
chances are its fate would have been doubtful until the last 
vote was cast. They were looking for the “joker.” But as the 
purpose of the senator gradually dawned upon Congress and 
enactment of the bill became daily more sure, certain consterna- 
tion broke loose in pro-liquor ranks evidenced by an avalanche 
of protesting telegrams to Philip Dornham while others went 
directly to the senator. 

During the epochal-making history of the early days of the 
Sixty-fifth Congress, the fact that relations had been severed 
with Germany and that threatening war clouds hung like a pall 
over the land, did not interest Philip Dornham. While other 
men rose from their beds at break of day and sat by their 
front doors waiting for the nev/s of the world, while mothers 
stole in and with flickering candle lovingly watched their sleep- 
ing sons, and then on bended knees prayed for peace, the while 
in their heart of hearts dedicating those sons to their country’s 
cause, Philip Dornham slept. He was interested only in the 
working hours of Congress. For days he had sat by his leased 
wire in hourly conversation with his senator, and the strain 
was telling on him. 

“Why kill the Scanlan Amendment, Mr. Dornham?” asked 
Samuels. 

“Why not lie down and quit!” roared the banker. “Why 
not invite the irresponsible fools to confiscate our homes, and 
our banks as well as our breweries? Why not ask them to 
screw down our coffin lids?” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


81 


“But Scanlan is right, Mr. Dornham.” 

“Looks like it, don’t it?” he mocked. “Scanlan himself 
acknowledges there is no way to prevent its passage.” 

“Sure, Congress will pass the bill, cause Congress is stam- 
peded, but let it go to the people — let ’em get a taste of real 
prohibition like that bill ’ll give ’em and in two years they’ll 
be eatin’ out of our hands like orphan lambs.” 

“The people be damned! Aren’t they behind it all?” 

“That’s where you make a mistake just like Congress is 
doin’. Congress is listenin’ to the loud-mouthed hypocrites 
thinkin’ it’s the ‘people.’ Wait till this law fixes it so these 
howlers can’t slip around and get their liquor and you’ll hear 
’em howl.” 

“And what will being shut out of the prohibition states two 
years cost us?” demanded Mr. Dornham. “No, damn ’em! 
I’d rather spend ten millions on the greedy devils and stop it 
now. Every one of them has his hands behind his back. I can 
kill the damned bill, and I’ll do it.” 

“Pretty expensive for one bill, Mr. Dornham,” said Sam- 
uels. 

“Not so expensive as this infernal lawlessness of the sa- 
loons,” Mr. Dornham growled as if charging it as a personal 
grievance against Samuels. “There’s that 0‘Connell-Gardner 
case. Babson says it will cost us thousands of votes.” 

“Well, I’m puttin’ good money on a ‘not guilty’ verdict,” 
replied Samuels, “and if you and Mr. Babson will attend that 
trial I think you’ll both change your notions.” 

“Notions, hell!” Mr. Dornham exclaimed angrily. “Don’t 
I see the reports coming in from all over the country? I tell 
you this lawlessness has got to stop.” 

“You ain’t never been about saloons much, have you, Mr. 
Dornham ?” 

“I have no desire to be about saloons as they are run,” 
snapped the banker. “The object of the saloon being business 
for profit, what I can not understand is, why the saloon-keeper 


82 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


will jeopardize his existence by making or permitting his place 
to be looked upon as a hotbed of lawlessness.” 

“Well,” smiled Samuels, “they ain’t much of a Sunday- 
school-love-your-enemy sort of places. I’ll admit that; but the 
boys may think you’re puttin’ a pretty stiff job up to ’em.” 

“Other business — the soda fountains have no difficulty in 
keeping order in their places,” fumed the banker. 

For a moment the ward boss studied Mr. Dornham quizzi- 
cally, not quite certain as to whether he was honest or subtle. 

“Soda water,” said he, with a touch of a snarl in his grating 
voice, “won’t make a cryin’ baby fling hot coals in the Kaiser’s 
face neither. Soda water jerkers won’t come across with a 
hundred million plunks when they’re told to neither. And if 
my recollection’s good you ain’t been puttin’ up ten to fifty 
thousand for the past dozen years to buy ‘soda water’ on elec- 
tion day to ‘thuse the boys.” 

For a moment Samuels waited, ruddy of face and breath- 
ing heavily. Mr. Dornham bit his lips viciously. 

“Far as I can see,” the boss continued, “it’s up to you to 
choose prayer-meetin’ or the saloon as it is — damned if I know 
how to change it, nor care to if I could.” 

Samuels had been patient with Mr. Dornham’s hobby of 
“reforming” the saloon, believing it only a part of the general 
scheme by which he was trying to make himself believe — that 
he was a “reformer.” But when criticism became personal, he 
usually had an understanding. 

When he had gone, the banker sat long, considering the sug- 
gestion of the political boss upon whose judgment he was be- 
coming more and more dependent. Returning an hour later 
from Fletcher Babson’s office, he instructed Senator Scanlan to 
let the Scanlan amendment pass. When he hung up the tele- 
phone receiver Mr. Dornham smiled — he chuckled aloud. 

“After all, we’ll help the hypocrites hang themselves.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


83 


CHAPTER XIV 

A COURAGEOUS REBEL 
''Some of us will smart for it.” 

E very woman has her shrine. It may be studded with 
jewels without and made soft with silk within, or it 
may be a simple box of pasteboard; it may, perchance, 
be a piece of brown paper wrapped and tied with twine, but 
it is the sacred place where every woman hides from irreverent 
eyes the things most sacred. You will never find her jewels 
there; but a faded, fragrant flower from her wedding bouquet, 
a little lock of the silken hair of her first born, and the news- 
paper account of her wedding, will each have its place. 

At the first break of their wedding journey, before they 
went to their hotel, Mr. and Mrs. Horlick stopped at a news 
stand and bought The Dispatch and The Intelligencer, the 
principal morning and evening papers of Brewerton. Throw- 
ing them upon the floor, Rose seated herself upon the soft rug. 
“Will it be on the front page?” she asked herself, as she reached 
for The Dispatch. Then she laughed. “O Egotism;” she ex- 
claimed, seeking the society section. Glancing through the 
large headlines and failing to see their names she looked to be 
sure that it was the date she wanted. It was dated Sunday, 
October 28, and her wedding was the evening before. Won- 
deringly she turned the pages through the entire edition. 

“Had she not spent an hour with the reporter a week 
before, giving the details; had she not posed in her wedding 
gown especially for a photograph for the papers? Where was 
it?” 

Again Rose turned to the society section and as her eyes, 
now blurred with tears, raced over the pages she saw a notice 
under the heading, “weddings.” 

“Richard W. Horlick and Miss Rose Roebstock were mar- 
ried last evening at the home of the bride’s parents, on Euclid 


84 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


Boulevard. Mrs. Horlick is the daughter of Seymour H. 
Roebstock, a prominent coal dealer. Mr. Horlick is an em- 
ploye of the Dornham Bank and Trust Company.” 

“Dick!” called Rose. She could say no more; and as her 
husband took the outstretched paper she covered her face and 
sobbed. 

For a moment Richard stood reading the notice. Crushing 
it in his hands he threw it upon the floor. 

“There!” said he, “The Intelligencer is more decent.” 
Smiling through her tears she asked : 

“But, Dick, whats the meaning of that?” pointing to the 
crumpled paper. 

“The Dispatch, my little girl,” said he, “is owned by the 
brewers, distillers and their friends. It is your punishment for 
breaking a custom which is valuable to them.” 

“Oh! Not really?” asked Rose, incredulously. 

“I only hope,” said he. “the powers will consider this suffi- 
cient punishment.” 

“But,” protested Rose, still unbelieving, “will the liquor 
business presume to dictate to me how I shall entertain my 
guests in my own home?” 

“There,” he replied, pointing to the floor, “is the answer. 
Have you ever known of that sort of treatment being handed 
to one in your set before?” 

Here was a phase of the problem of alcohol which Rose 
had not met and which she had not contemplated. She had 
conscientiously and, as she believed, intelligently, reached her 
conclusions and she had adopted her course without thought 
of more than criticism by some of her social set and compli- 
ments from others. 

“Well,” said she, eyes flashing, “they have called my father 
— the largest coal mine owner in the Middle West — a ‘coal 
dealer,’ and my husband, second only to the president in the 
largest bank of the same section, an ‘employee,’ and given me a 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


85 


six-line wedding notice; I don’t know just what other punish- 
ment they have, but my answer is: “Lay on Macduff.’ ” 

“Oh, you darling little rebel!” exclaimed her husband, 
crushing her to him, “Call it two of us!” 

But Rose did not know that on that very day Philip Dorn- 
ham, while extending a note for her father, had mentioned 
the displeasure of certain of their mutual friends at what they 
feared would be a disastrous example, and that he had let fall 
the suggestion that upon her return a reception might be given 
by the bride arranging for the publication of the usual Brew- 
erton menu on such occasions, thus remedying what was prob- 
ably the thoughtless impulse of a young girl. She did not 
know that her father had replied rather bluntly that the choice 
of his daughter was with his consent and approval, declining 
any dictation in his private affairs by the friends whom the 
banker had quoted. She did not see the cloud come over the 
banker’s face. So, clipping the wedding notice which was 
pleasing to her, and carefully folding it, she hid it away for 
her sacred archives and forgot the only shadow of her honey- 
moon. 


86 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XV 

THE TRAGEDY OF THE AGES 

"His honor rooted in dishonor stood 
And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true'' 

U PON the evening of Dr. Morrison’s lecture to which 
Helen had invited Courtney, as they came from the 
auditorium he was critical. 

“Morrison,” he said, “that dry stuff of yours has literally 
famished me; come, we’re going to De Lancy’s for some sup- 
per and I will prove before Helen that some of that so-called 
scientific talk you gave us is neither fact nor logic. 

“Do come, Doctor,” said Helen, as he hesitated, “I have 
always wanted to be Portia; I’ll judge the cause.” 

“ ‘O, upright judge,’ ” laughed the doctor, entering the car. 
Now, my thirsty Shylock, drive to the place of your undoing.” 

As they entered their private apartment and stood looking 
through the silken portieres upon the brilliant scene in the large 
dining hall with its music, dancing and clink of cut-glass, 
Courtney prodded his friend: 

“That, Bob,” said he, “is what you would deprive those 
people of if you could, simply because it does not appeal to 
your taste and mental attitude toward life.” 

“On the contrary, I wage no fight on good suppers and 
congenial company, if one’s stomach and purse can stand it. 
But alcohol is neither food nor conducive to good fellowship; 
this place, alluring as it is, is only one end of the journey by 
way of Jacobi’s saloons.” 

“Then, I suppose, you would say it is not respectable?” 

“O, custom,” said Dr. Morrison, “has made it that; society 
has registered its approval, and therefore it is eminently re- 
spectable. But it is doubly dangerous. Do you see that young 
lady over there, Dave? Yes, at the third table, with the hand- 
some brown furs. Look at her eyes, Miss Dornham; she’s 
drugged.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


87 


“What!” exclaimed Helen; “you do not mean ?” 

“O, no; this respectable place is not where the detective 
story type of knockout drops are administered; but she is as 
actually drugged by the narcotic effect of alcohol and to a con- 
dition where discretion is not normal or safe.” 

“That is just where I xall your lecture, stuff,” said Court- 
ney. “You made the statement in your talk a while ago that 
alcohol is not stimulative but narcotic. I am glad you called 
attention to that girl. Now, I want you to watch her closely, 
Helen; you see she is in the very ecstasy of exhilaration; ob- 
serve the flash of her eyes. Why, every fibre of her pretty self 
is responding to the stimulation of her wine. This is not a 
matter of theory with me. Bob; there, before your eyes, is an 
indisputable example. And while never intoxicated, I have 
myself experienced the stimulating effect of alcohol. How do 
you expect a practical mind to accept this theorizing which 
the yaps who go to hear you are drinking down?” 

“Well,” said Helen, “Portia prefers to be seated before 
hearing more of the case; and, really. Dr. Morrison, I believe 
you are going to need some supper before making reply to that 
lawyer-like argument on the reality of things.” 

But the doctor was not thinking of supper just then; he 
was thinking of a social prejudice which had so thoroughly 
wrapped itself around his friend as to exclude truth which had 
well-nigh become common knowledge. Here was a man of 
powerful intellectual faculties; a man who had mastered the 
science of law as few man had mastered it, who could meas- 
ure information creditably with the best informed upon the 
topics of the day, and whose heart was large for human wel- 
fare, yet cramped by the environing conditions of a social cus- 
tom both pleasing to his tastes and responsive to his ideals of 
personal privilege, v/ho had declined seriously to investigate 
truths which were forcing themselves as problems of the most 
serious nature upon the nations of the world. 

“Courtney,” he asked, “would you really like to know the 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


psycho-physical change which took place in you during that 
personal experience which you mention?” 

“Upon one condition ; that you state it in plain English.” 

“Barge fire him, Doctor,” laughed Helen; “I really believe 
you have the advantage if for no more substantial reason than 
that medicine has more unpronounceables than law.” 

“What his brain can not grasp,” the doctor laughed, “it 
may absorb.” 

“Anyway, to be convincing, there must be facts — demon- 
strable facts,” said Courtney. 

“Just two minutes after you swallowed your wine, cham- 
pagne, or whatever your beverage may have been,” began the 
doctor, “by its chemical attraction, the alcohol was being ob- 
sorbed into the blood, rushed to the brain and out to the capil- 
lary system of the body. In its passage through the arterial 
and venal system, like a highwayman, it attacked and de- 
stroyed the white corpuscles in the blood, whose mission and 
active service is to fight and destroy invading disease germs. 
By its hardening action upon living tissue and cell life, it is 
responsible for three-fourths of all cases of valvular heart dis- 
ease and cirrhosis of the liver, and you have invited disease 
of these organs.” 

“But,” protested Courtney, “you are describing the results 
of excessive drinking, something I do not defend.” 

“I am stating the universal physiological action of alcohol 
in only a small sphere of its perniciousness; follow it out and 
we have a nervous degeneration which has lowered the physical 
vitality of the race more than any one cause known to science, 
while all known causes combined are not equal to its destruc- 
tion of brain force and consequent hereditary fatuity. You 
were ‘Gardner at this end of the road.’ ” 

“Really, Bob, you are interesting, if not convincing. But 
you know you started out to prove to me that I was anaesthe- 
tized and not stimulated, and I don’t propose to let you duck 
your own boomerang.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


89 


“What the doctor has already told us,” said Helen, “makes 
me think champagne bottles should be labeled with the skull 
and cross-bones instead of the alluring pictures which adorn 
them.” 

“What he says, if believed,” replied David, “I confess 
would not be calculated to make me enjoy old Sancho’s mint 
julep more than in the past, but I call Bobbie Burns to witness 
that: 

“ ’Twill make a man. forget his woes; 

’Twill heighten all his joys; 

’Twill make a widow’s heart to sing, 

Tho’ the tears were in her eye.’ 

And I call that stimulation.” 

“If you will go further back in literature, Courtney, you 
will find that Grecian civilization regarded wine, song and art 
synonymous, holding that intoxication liberated the highest 
powers of the mind from animal impulses. But the end of 
the feast usually found the banqueters under the table, proving 
then as now that alcohol’s predominating psychological quality 
is its power to create delusions. No doubt you believe you 
make a more effective after-dinner speech under the excitant 
effect of champagne.” 

“I know I can not make one without it,” laughed Courtney. 

“But you do not want it — not yet, for your argument be- 
fore the court where every faculty of mind must be exercising 
its highest effciency.” 

“Again I call you; the best speech I ever made in the court 
room was after a rather stiff highball.” 

“Only another evidence of its power of delusion,” said the 
doctor. 

“Now let’s see just what did take place on that occasion: 
Your brain — ^let us liken it to a fortified citadel, the great 
fortification of Thought, than which man — aye, God himself 
has created nothing greater; the force behind, beneath and 


90 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


above all power, for it is God in Man. Such was your normal 
brain supported by all its faculties in correct relation one to the 
other. 

“Two minutes after you swallowed your highball, absorbed 
into the blood, alcohol laid seige to the brain — ^Thought — as 
actual and as relentless as the onsweep of German hosts against 
Liege, the fortress that guarded all that was sacred to Belgium. 
You recall that upon the occasion of that rape of national 
rights and human justice Germany did not attack the lesser 
forts, but with weapons more powerful than any known in 
world warfare directed her destroying power upon the com- 
manding battlements. 

“In the same ruthless manner. Alcohol, by its narcotic in- 
fluence, laid siege to your brain, and one by one, those most 
sensitive, most sacred faculties. Reason, Judgment, Justice — 
those faculties of Thought which balance conduct, were an- 
aesthetized into a state of depletion, inaction, or temporary 
helplessness in proportion to the attack — the quantity of alcohol 
consumed. 

“Dave, what remained of the citadel of Thought? Only 
sense feelings, animal emotions. Thus deprived of the govern- 
ing power of reason and judgment, those faculties of propor- 
tion, you were deceived into believing yourself more efficient, 
whereas you were a mental cripple.” 

For a moment Dr. Morrison sat drumming the table with 
the tips of his fingers, then added: 

“I declare to you, Courtney, the tragedy of all ages is the 
licensed commercial rape of the human mind made in the image 
of God.” 

When the doctor ceased speaking there was silence. With 
the handle of her spoon Helen was imprinting grotesque figures 
upon the linen tablecloth; lost in thought, Courtney gazed 
into the brilliant scene adjoining. 

“Morrison,” he asked, “can you demonstrate this action of 
alcohol by convincing evidence rather than mere highly colored 
theory?” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


91 


“That is just what you have persistently declined to permit 
me to do,” replied the doctor. 

The question of prohibition was one which had not inter- 
ested Helen Dornham. Perhaps, other than an impression 
which she had gotten from conversations of her father and 
brother that it was a theory advocated by a sect or company 
of ignorant, misguided enthusiasts who wished to forcibly im- 
press their opinions upon others regardless of the consequent 
destruction of vast money interests and the violation of their 
rights, she had not considered it. But here was a condition 
stated so plainly and so appallingly that she did not fail to 
catch the import of it. 

Still combative before the little company separated, Court- 
ney had unwillingly consented to witness the proposed demon- 
stration. 


92 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XVI 

DR. MORRISON PROVES HIS THEORY 

'"The practical effect of a belief is the real test of its 
soundness.'" 

S EATED in his office waiting for the coming of the doctor 
to proceed to his club where he had arranged for the 
tests, Courtney revolved the business of the evening in 
his mind. At times he did so interestedly, at times peevishly, 
for permitting himself to be persuaded into a matter from 
which he expected nothing enlightening or convincing. Dur- 
ing the day, in the study of a case, he had had occasion to 
review the subject of criminal jurisprudence, and more than 
once he had been forced to confess the bare possibility of the 
truth of the doctor’s theory. But each time his combative mind 
would ask: 

“Will the facts support the hypothesis?” 

“If so,” he was forced to admit, “if this renowned specialist 
demonstrates this evening what he proposes to do, there can 
be no defense of a system by which government not only ap- 
proves alcohol as a beverage, consenting to its manufacture and 
sale, but by accepting money for that privilege becomes co- 
equal in responsibility with the distillery, the brewery and the 
saloon. If Morrison proves his case, governments and every 
individual supporting the system are not only guilty of ac- 
complishing economic waste of property and physical power, 
but the more appalling weakening and oft-times destruction of 
the mind of man. “Here,” thought he, “was the most offensive 
example of that principle of government most obnoxious to 
him; a paternalism by which government implanted the de- 
stroying death bacilli in the arteries of its very life.” 

But he was by no means ready to admit this as truth. The 
whole experience of Courtney had been environed by the easy 
use of alcoholic beverages; that use which, genteel and social, 
is accepted without question. Among his earliest impressions 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


93 


was the decanter on the sideboard as familiar and as necessary 
as the hourly striking of the great hall clock. His father’s 
three drinks a day had been as regular as his meals and without 
the suggestion of intoxication. It had been his own privilege 
to partake of the parental decanter at will. Now, at the age 
of 32, he was no worse for this personal liberty. Certainly he 
was unconscious of having experienced any such action as the 
doctor had described, and he could recall no occasion when he 
had observed it in any of his numerous friends with whom 
his convivial evenings were but pleasant memories. When Dr. 
Morrison arrived he was in his usual combative mood. 

“Well, Courtney,” said the doctor, “I’m sorry, if you have 
closed your mind to reasonable conviction. Just now, you 
mentioned your father, whose courtesies I can never forget. 
How old was he?” 

“Sixty-two,” he replied, “and with the exception of rheu- 
matism had enjoyed excellent health to the hour of his death.” 

“Of what did your father die?” 

“Apoplexy.” 

The doctor remaining silent, his friend inquired after some 
moments : 

“Why, do you ask. Bob?” 

“I’m sure you’ll understand me, Dave; certainly I would 
regret it if you didn’t, but ” and the doctor hesitated. 

“Certainly, Bob, I know nothing offensive to me could 
have place in your heart.” 

“Thank you, Courtney; you may always be sure of that. 
What I was about to say was this: I am very positive, as you 
say, that in the ordinary meaning of the word your father was 
never intoxicated. But it has been demonstrated until it has 
become a positively known fact that one who consumes even 
the amount of alcohol which your father took daily is never 
normal. Apoplexy is due to the rupture of a blood vessel 
because of cirrhosis, or the hardening of artery tissues. Slightly 
more than one-fifth of all cases of apoplexy are the results of 
alcoholic cirrhosis.” 


94 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“If these statements which you are continually firing at 
me,” said Courtney, “are true, why are they not published 
and taught?” 

“After a great struggle, science has succeeded in getting 
the facts in hygiene text books and they are taught to some 
extent in our public schools. But do you not see how almost 
impossible it is to impress their seriousness upon men’s or even 
children’s minds when government puts approval upon the 
brewery and the saloon? Such appeal to reason is well-nigh 
powerless in the face of the appeal of saloons to appetite.” 

“Well,” said Courtney, wearily, “let us keep our appoint- 
ment with the ‘poison squad.’ What part do I play in this 
evening’s work of debauchery ?” 

“First,” said Dr. Morrison, “I want you to be particularly 
careful that only the purest, high-grade beverages are served. 
But before anything is served we will engage the subjects in 
conversation and observe their normal minds. Then as in- 
toxication ensues we will follow them in conversation but will 
never lead. I took the liberty of inviting Walton of the In- 
telligencer to be with us. Have him also served with substi- 
tutes.” 

“No idea of publicity in this?” Courtney demanded. 

“Certainly not,” replied the doctor. “His opposition to the 
saloon is purely political; he is quite as skeptical upon the eve- 
ning’s experiment as you are.” 

Of the subjects selected by Mr. Courtney, Judge Proctor 
in the criminal branch of law had stood well at the head of his 
profession. His retention as counsel had for many years been 
regarded as a case half won. Although but 50, he was now 
in the decline of life, the heavy pouches under his eyes, the 
capillary engorgement of the nose and his unsteady hand telling 
the story of alcoholic congestion and nerve disturbance. Her- 
bert Stanton, for his years, was the best known banker of the 
Middle West. In addition to having taken a leading role in 
national finance, he was the author of several bulletins issued 
by the Federal Reserve Board upon the correct attitude of 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


95 


banking to small business and of capital to labor. His advanced 
position upon business democracy had succeeded in placing his 
name prominently before the country as a possibility in the 
formation of the second Wilson cabinet. 

The third, Kenneth Wardlaw, although as yet having at- 
tained no unusual distinction in his profession as instructor of 
Greek in Vanderslip University, was esteemed by all who 
knew him for the purity of all his conceptions of life. His 
lecture, “The Mothers of Men,” in which he strongly ar- 
raigned the social evil, holding that he who violates the law 
of social purity conspires to break down the fountain life of the 
home, weakens the race in its most vital spot and is an enemy 
to all virtue, had given him prominence upon the Chautauqua 
platform. Professor Wardlaw was therefore one in whose 
presence men of loose tongue regarded tneir speech as in the 
presence of women. 

The first few glasses of wine put Herbert Stanton in ex- 
cellent humor, while the professor only affected unnatural dig- 
nity in attempting to conceal its influence. The evening ad- 
vanced. Wardlaw declined to keep peace with his fellows, 
and became more reserved in speech. Courtney pressed Dr. 
Morrison’s foot under the table in triumph. For while Judge 
Parker gulped, Stanton more moderately drained his glass and 
the college professor sipped. It was not until after Stanton had 
evidenced his submission to the master of men’s minds that the 
symptoms which Dr. Morrison had foretold became manifest 
in Professor Wardlaw. 

Abandoning his defense of business justice which had dis- 
tinguished him among men of his class, Herbert Stanton de- 
fended the principle of the right of might, if perhaps, with less 
logic, with all the boldness of Herr Von Bernhardi. 

“If he’s poor, damn him, keep him poor!” he exclaimed. 

“But,” persisted Mr. Walton, the more fully to develop the 
full swing of his mind, “without some curtailing of the com- 
bination of capital the average man would be crushed by the 
bourbonism of wealth.” 


96 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“O, to hell with the average man!” exclaimed Stanton. 
“What has the average man ever done in the big game of 
finance? Nothing! The only man with the power to do 
things is the man who has something to do things with. Cap- 
ital creates the payroll!” 

“But,” urged the editor, “labor being the source of wealth, 
labor and capital must be equally safeguarded.” 

“Let me tell you something,” replied Stanton irritably, 
“business — big business — ^will never do its best for itself and for 
labor as long as it is hampered with politicians pandering to the 
whims of the idle, lazy poor!” 

“But,” said Courtney, “that has not been your creed, Her- 
bert.” 

“Creeds be damned!” was alcohol’s reply. “That’s theory; 
but when we come down to business we’re all alike, ‘Every 
fellow for himself and the devil take the hindmost!’ ” 

“O, I’m tired of this speech makin’,” exclaimed Professor 
Wardlaw; “who cares for the rich or the poor? Both’s tryin’ 
to get what the other’s got. What I want and what you want 

is to see some good lookin’ high steppers . Say, Courtney, 

ain’t you got any high kickers you can show us? If not, let’s 
hunt up some.” 

“Why no, Kenneth,” said Courtney in actual confusion, “I 
hardly dared to provide that sort of amusement for you.” 

“What the devil you think a fellow wants — to go to Sunday 
school? Well, I guess not tonight! Say, fellows, come on; 
let’s hunt ’em up.” 

“Speaking of good looking kickers. Professor,” said Dr. 
Morrison, handing him a photograph, “what do you think of 
that?” 

“O, Zeus!” exclaimed the professor, his eyes feasting upon 
the picture, “what new Psyche have you brought us? Say, 
Dock, Eros would have been a fool to leave the side of that 
peach.” 

Like a great steamer which once proudly rode the ocean 
waves, but with the rudder gone, is cast upon the beach, heav- 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


97 


ing only with the ebb and flow of the surging tide, Judge Proc- 
tor, leaning upon the table, slept in drunken helplessness. 

When the company was about to separate, Ben Walton de- 
tained Courtney and the doctor. 

“Dr. Morrison,” he asked, “are you positive — of your own 
knowledge — that the action of alcohol is always the same?” 

“The physiological action of alcohol is devious and varied 
in its effects,” the doctor replied; “the psychological operation, 
while varied in outward expression, is unchanging — immutable 
as the law of cause and effect.” 

“Do you mean to say that Stanton under the same degree 
of intoxication would put his creed into practice?” 

“Undoubtedly if unrestrained by public opinion and un- 
curbed by law,” replied the doctor. 

“Then you claim that Stanton was a different man tonight 
from what I have known in the bank.” 

“No,” Dr. Morrison corrected, “that man tonight was only 
a portion of the man you have known in the bank. The banker 
you have known — that man of honor and justice — was 
wounded and helpless. 

Courtney had seated himself at a little distance from the 
doctor and Walton and sat looking into space, absorbed in his 
thoughts. 

“Dave,” called Dr. Morrison, “knowing Professor Ward- 
law as you do, normally, what would have been his reception 
of the obscene picture which so delighted him tonight?” 

“He would have insulted you.” 

“Well, I don’t know what you think about it, Courtney,” 
said Walton. “I’ve been pretty firmly set in my ideas about 
alcoholic beverages and social custom, but I’m ready to admit 
that Dr. Morrison has made out a damaging case against al- 
cohol.” 

Courtney did not reply. Other than the short sentence in 
reply to Dr. Morrison, he gave no indication of what was pass- 
ing in his mind. 


98 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XVII 

DAVID COURTNEY STANDS UP 

''One of the grandest things in having rights is that, 
being your rights, you may give them up!’ 

B ut the following morning old Sancho received a shock 
for which he was totally unprepared. 

“Dar, now; I kin des see m’self in ’em,” exclaimed 
the butler as he finished polishing Mr. Courtney’s shoes and 
carried them to his room to call him for breakfast. 

“Which will yo’ hab dis mawin’, Marse Dave, brandy en 
sody, er des er sweetened toddy wid er leetle lemond juice 
in hit?” 

“I will not take anything this morning, Sancho,” he re- 
plied, yawning sleepily. 

“Whut — whut dat yo’ say, Marse Dave?” inquired Sancho, 
holding his hand to his ear, although boasting that his hearing 
and sight were “des as good as eny ob dese young niggers.” 

“I say I will not take anything to drink this morning!” 
“Yas’r, yas’r, Marse Dave; I hears yer, ’dout yo’ hollerin’ 
so loud, suh.” 

Preparing his employer’s bath, he hung a fresh suit by the 
radiator, during which performance he had consumed much 
more time than usual, punctuating it at frequent intervals with 
something between a groan and a sigh, once his disturbed emo- 
tions betraying him into a half smothered exclamation: 

“Uh — eh! Wonder whut de mattah wid Marse Dave? 
Den I wonder whut gwin ter be de mattah wid ole Sancho 
dis cole mawnin’ ’doubt sup’n to warm him up!” 

Finding nothing by which he could make excuse to prolong 
his stay with the hope that Mr. Courtney might reconsider, 
Sancho left the room. But still hoping to be called back he 
stopped at the top of the stairs and listened. Hearing nothing, 
he cautiously cracked the door. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


99 


“Marse Dave, did you’ call ole Sancho?” 

“No, Sancho.” 

“Well er, Marse Dave, is yo’ ailin’, honey?” 

Springing from bed he swung his Indian clubs about the 
white wooly head : 

“Why, I’m as fit as a woodchopper, Sancho.” 

“Yas’r, yas’r, Marse Dave, I sees yo’ is, suh,” said Sancho, 
dodging and ducking. “I’se sho’ glad yo’ ain’t ondisposened.” 
And as he descended the stairs he chuckled: 

“Dat sho’ am one monstr’us fine white gen-man.” 

But by the time he had reached the kitchen the calamity of 
a cold, frosty morning without his usual bracer had shut out 
the vision of the elegance of his employer, and he entered shak- 
ing his head in the most doleful manner. 

“Lawdy, Lawdy! Whut’s done perspired to disrup’ Marse 
Dave?” 

“What de mattah wid you’, nigger?” demanded Cindy. 

“Lawdy, Cindy, Marse Dave say: ‘Sancho, don’ fix me 
nuthin’ ter drink dis mawin’.’ Whut yo’ expose dat chile’s 
Pa’d say ef he hear dat? / Sides, when Marse Dave don’ get 
nuthin’ Sancho don’ get nuthin’, and whut’s I gwin do dis cole 
mawin’? Dat’s whut I’se axin’ myself.” 

“Whut yo’ gwin do? Yo’ ax me whut yo’ gwin do, nig- 
ger? Yo’ gwint er de wood pile and fotch me in some stove 
wood, dat’s whut yo’ gwin do!” 

“O, Cindy,” complained Sancho, moving toward the door, 
“whut make yo’ ack so much lack a nigger? En yo’ been riz 
en livin’ wid white quality ever since yo’ been horned. Why’nst 
yo’ say, ‘Mistah Co’tney, ef yer please, suh, fotch me in some 
fewels?’ ” 

Sancho had kept an eye on the rolling pin and, as he fin- 
ished, discreetly slipped out of the door towards the wood- 
house. 

“Tee, hee, heel” laughed Cindy, “dat ole nigger ack des 
like er young boy wid his foolishness.” 


100 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


Sancho served breakfast in silence. Mr. Courtney did not 
return at midday dinner, but when evening came and there was 
no mint julep at supper, and the instructions of the day before 
were repeated in the morning, the butler was in the depths of 
despair. As he assisted Mr. Courtney into his overcoat, he 
whispered : 

“Marse Dave, old Sancho’s feelin’ monstrous onlikely dis 
mawin’ — ouch ! Dar, dot old mis’ry kitch me in de back ergin. 
Cain’t you give de ole nigger des er drap er sup’n, Marse 
Dave?” And Sancho stood drawn to one side as if in great 
agony. 

For some years Mr. Courtney had found it necessary for the 
sake of peace and good order in the kitchen, and to insure him- 
self a drink when he wanted it, to keep his liquors under lock. 

“You old rascal!” he laughed, handing him the key, “See 
what’s in there.” And by some mysterious means, having for- 
gotten his pain, Sancho moved quickly to the locker, returning 
with a half empty quart bottle. 

Never in his experience could he remember experiencing a 
craving for drink, but as Courtney drew the stopper and caught 
the pungent odor there came an almost overwhelming desire to 
place the bottle to his lips and drink. Tremblingly he set it 
upon the table and walked to the window. 

“Marse Dave,” pleaded the old servant, seeing in his face 
the reflection of the tumult that raged within, “let ole Sancho 
fix yo’ a mint jewlip; yo’ knows how de ole nigger can ” 

“Hush, Sancho,” commanded Courtney. In that moment 
had come the memory of his mother’s patient reply to his own 
objection to abstinence: “Dr. Morrison says they can’t want 
tq quit,” and he knew now what it meant. 

Tenacious to a custom which appealed to his own social 
instincts, and jealous of what he believed to be the inherent 
right of a free American citizen, Courtney had refused to ac- 
cept as convincing evidence the argument against alcohol which 
its abuse alone produced. He had stood by the death bed of 
James Gardner and knew that alcohol was his slayer, but he 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


101 


believed that the weakness of James Gardner and not the 
power of alcohol was at fault. He had listened to the tear- 
stained story of Dolly Gardner and his anger was keen against 
the man who had wronged her, but he believed she had related 
an excuse and not a cause. 

On the night he had witnessed Dr. Morrison’s demonstra- 
tion, with his own perceptions clear, he had seen alcohol invade 
the sacred temple of the mind ; he had watched the ruthless on- 
slaught upon reason and upon judgment, and he saw all that 
is divine in man silenced into helplessness. On that occasion his 
intellect needed no argument, his sense of justice required no 
appeal. 

It had not been the intention of Courtney to mention to 
any one his mental attitude. He had made no pledge, not even 
with himself; he had arrived at the parting of the ways and 
had chosen his course. This morning, seating himself beside his 
mother, he took her hand. 

“Would it give you pleasure, mother,” said he, and his 
voice trembled just a little, “to know that no more of that 
will ever come into our home?” 

Mrs. Courtney looked at the bottle on the table, then at 
her son. There was something more in her beautiful, wrinkled 
face than he had ever seen before — something more of a moth- 
er’s yearning love quivering betwixt hope and fear. 

“Do you mean it, David?” she asked. 

“I have taken my last drink,” said he with frank finality. 

“God bless you, my noble son!” It was all that she could 
say, for it was the moment of triumphant answer to years of 
unwearied prayer. 

For some moments Sancho stood statue like in bewildered 
amazement. Born in slavery upon the Courtney estate, as was 
the law of slavery, he bore the family name. He had known 
no other employer, he had rejoiced with the family at their 
weddings and had wept with them at their funerals. During 
the four years of Colonel Courtney’s service in the Confederate 
army, Sancho had been the bodyguard of the home, providing 


102 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


for every possible comfort for his mistress. He had slept at the 
threshold of her door to guard her person from harm, he had 
nightly lifted his black face toward the twinkling stars in 
prayer for his master upon the battlefield. During the years 
that followed he shared their poverty with the same conscious 
aristocracy of which he boasted in days of plenty. He had been 
nursed in sickness, fed and clothed and paid his wage in health, 
and when troubles came at Blackswamp Campgrounds, as they 
often came, he was bailed out and furnished with counsel, and 
if his wits and ready tongue could not deliver him, “De cunel 
could,” and did. 

Upon the day David was born, Sancho had refused to go 
to his cabin until he had looked upon the baby and cuddled 
him in his arms, and from that day he had been the apple of 
his eye. Perhaps but one other devotion was so keen, it was 
the tenacity with which he defended the aristocracy of the 
name of Courtney — his own white folks — and their customs. 
And to Sancho there was no greater evidence of “quality folks” 
than the mint patch in its own corner of the garden and the 
decanter upon the sideboard. The old “coach and four,” a 
sacred memory of the Sundays when he had driven with his 
master and mistress to church, could be duplicated by com- 
mon “white trash” if they happened to become prosperous, but 
only “quality folks” could have their mint patch and drink like 
gentlemen. Therefore, the tri-daily mint juleps which Sancho 
had served to Colonel Courtney and later to his son were a far 
greater evidence of aristocracy — a distinction cherished more by 
the old slave servant than by the master — more even than the 
family coat of arms done in bronze which rested upon the 
mantel. 

It was not strange, therefore, that Sancho heard with alarm 
the announced purpose of his young master. 

“Mis Mary,” said he, weakly, “kin yo’ step here des er 
minit?” hobbling along to draw Mrs. Courtney further from 
the door. 

“Miss Mary, is Marse Dave bad sick?” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


103 


“No, Sancho; what makes you think Mr. David is ill?” 

“Miss Mary, Marse Dave ain’t nuver ack lack dis befo’; 
lemme foam fer Mistah Doctor Mahson.” 

“Sancho!” called Courtney. 

“I’se cornin’, Marse Dave.” 

“Sancho,” said he, pointing to the bottle, “you and I have 
quit.” 

“Is we, Marse Dave?” asked Sancho dolefully. “O, O! 
Dat mis’ry sho am scrushimatin’, Marse Dave.” 

“Yes, I’ll get you a rheumatic remedy. 

But seeing what he considered the honor of the family at 
stake and the alarming prospect of his own deprivation, the old 
butler made one more, and what he believed the supreme argu- 
ment to prevent so great a calamity. 

“Marse Dave, what dem fine white gen’men’s gwin say 
’bout yo’ when dey comes to see yo’ and yo’ don’ ax em’ to 
hab nothin’ wid yo’?” 

“Perhaps they — and you — will miss it, Sancho.” 

“En yo’ Pa? He wouldn’t lack dat, Marse Dave.” And 
there was pleading in his voice. 

“Well, Sancho, that’s settled. Now take this remnant and 
it will make you and Cindy an eggnog next Christmas.” 

“Thank yo’ suh, Marse Dave; thank yo’ suh. But Marse 
Dave, hit sho am er long way till Chris’mus,” said Sancho, slip- 
ping the bottle under his coat as he nimbly went to the kitchen. 

When David returned to lunch, Sancho was not in evi- 
dence, and proceeding to the kitchen he inquired of Cindy. 
With her hands akimbo on her ample hips, the cook stood in 
the center of her undisputed domain. 

“Marse Dave, yo’ orter know whar Sancho’d be wid dat 
licker in him whut yo’ give him.” 

“But I gave him that for your Christmas.” 

“Marse Dave, don’ yo’ know er nigger? If hit was Jedg- 
ment Day en Marse Jesus wus er cornin’ in de clouds, Sancho, 
he couldn’t er he’p drinkin’ dat licker.” 

To his inquiry as to where Sancho could be found, Cindy 


104 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


pointed to their quarters in the back yard. Sancho was lying 
upon the floor just inside the door, a razor in his hand and one 
eye swollen large. Throwing a blanket over him David re- 
turned to the kitchen. 

“What’s the matter with Sancho’s eye, Cindy?” he asked. 

“La, Chile, yo’ nuver kin tell whut gits de mattah wid er 
nigger’s eyes when ole Marse Licker gits in ’em.” 

“He must have had a falling out with his razor; I see he 
has it in his hand.” 

“I speck he did, Marse Dave; ’do I heard ’im pestern 
roun’ here in my kitchen er while ago. Mabby some er my 
skillets flewd up en hit ’im.” 

“I thought Sancho had learned the habits of your kitchen 
furniture, Cindy.” 

“Marse Dave, don’ yo’ know a drunk nigger don’ ’members 
nuthin’? Yo’ got’r show ’em de same way eber time.” 

“Perhaps they are not very different from the white ones 
in that, Cindy,” said Mr. Courtney. 

“Dat am de Lawd’s truf, Marse Dave,” said Cindy. And 
as he left the room Cindy took up her interrupted hymn: 

“On Jor d an s st or my ba 

nk s I sta nd . Speck I bettah be gwin ter see 

’bout dat ole nigger.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


105 


CHAPTER XVIII 

COURTNEY SPURNS THE BANKER^S GOLD 

''Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell. 

Civil dissension is a viperous worm. 

That gnaws the bowels of the Commonwealth^ 

P erhaps the most severe shock Philip Dornham ever 
experienced was prohibition for the District of Colum- 
bia. Such action upon the part of Congress did not 
occur to him as a thing possible, in which conclusion he was 
encouraged by the leaders in Washington. Soothed by his con- 
fident faith in the history of the past, he had watched the 
growth of his treasury in sums of millions persistently disre- 
garding and at times impatient with the cautionary advice of 
Fletcher Babson. When there were only days before the ballot 
was to be taken, he awoke to the possibility, even the strong 
probability of the passing of the bill. He had demanded its 
death at the hands of Senator Scanlan, advising him the exact 
amount upon which he could draw. But Senator Scanlan 
knew Congress better than did Philip Dornham; he knew the 
Congress of the United States of America was unpurchasable. 
Unwilling to incur his displeasure by acknowledging his lack of 
confidence in the power of money, the senator chose to adopt 
the tactics of minimizing the effects of such legislation. But 
when the enacted bill was signed by the President and he 
realized that the national Capitol, where in times past alcohol 
had played so important a part in the history of the nation, 
had been wrested from the brewers and the distillers, it was a 
blow from which he did not easily recover. 

When he had had time to renew his hitherto unflagging 
determination, it was with increased faith in the power of 
money to sway the misguided or stubborn conscience of legisla- 
tors as well as individuals. 

Collections were pouring uninterruptedly into the gigantic 
treasury at the rate of a half million dollars a week and an 


106 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


organization was now perfected in every section of the country 
spreading and converging like an enormous wheel rimmed by 
the Atlantic, the Gulf and the Pacific, with Brewerton the 
hub. Only those states where prohibition was in operation 
had presented a problem considered serious in the matter of 
propaganda, and it was to this condition that the three leaders 
were directing their attention. 

“Stir ’em up, damn ’em!” counseled Samuels. “Get ’em to 
boilin’ and they’ll be ready to swallow our medicine when the 
time comes.” 

“But,” objected Mr. Babson, “ this is not election year.” 

“Every year’s election year if we’re goin’ to win,” said 
Samuels. “Listen: Durin’ the fat days of the old ‘Tillman 
Gin Mill,’ as we used to call it, I played poker with a chap 
down there that bet me a thousand that he’d be governor in 
four years. He started without money, without friends, and 
without — well, the most he had was a loud mouth and brass to 
shame the devil. He was backin’ up that old Graft Machine 
that was dyin’ of internal gangrene — enough to swamp any 
man — but he started out cryin’, ‘Nigger, Nigger!’ The nigger, 
mind you, wasn’t doin’ anything but hoein’ cotton. But that 
chap kept hollerin’ ‘Nigger’ so long and so loud that in two 
years he got the durned fools mad at the nigger and mad at 
each other till they were ready to cut one another’s throats. 
At the campaign meetin’s they were carryin’ him around on 
their shoulders. In two years more they landed him into the 
governor’s chair. Nothin’ to it but makin’ ’em mad at some- 
thin’ — don’t make any difference what it is.” 

“Can we use this man?” asked Mr. Dornham. 

. “He’s already busy,” said Samuels. “He’s makin’ speeches 
now against the war and against the government draft system.” 

Philip Dornham was not slow to see the wisdom of Sam- 
uel’s program of discord and unrest. 

“Looks like good business to me, Fletcher,” said he. 

“But dangerous,” cautioned Babson. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


107 


“Only for the agitators,” said Samuels. “Let ’em look out 
for their own hides. You must acknowledge that the cash 
we’ve sent to the I. W. W.’s ain’t a bad investment.” 

“Organized labor is our most important effort now,” Mr. 
Dornham suggested. 

“Glad to hear you say that,” replied Samuels. “I’ve been 
takin’ a little fling at that as an experiment. You just watch 
the papers for the next few weeks and see what happens.” 

“You’re quite a wonderful fellow, Samuels,” Mr. Dornham 
complimented. 

It was plain that Fletcher Babson was not enthusiastic over 
this particular phase of the campaign. But at the conclusion of 
the conference it had been adopted as a part of the Dornham 
“system” under the direction of Samuels, the father of the 
program of unrest. 

“Do you realize, Fletcher,” said Mr. Dornham, when Sam- 
uels had retired, “that this is the most colossal political cam- 
paign ever inaugurated? I, perhaps, am too old but its effects 
may yet turn your face toward the White House.” 

“I have hardly permitted myself to think — and yet — ” 

“At present we must think of but one thing, we must have 
but one purpose. The other will follow.” 

“Each day the outlook grows brighter,” acknowledged Bab- 
son, whose conservatism had been an irritant to his chief. “And 
I confess this campaign of discord and unrest, if it can be con- 
ducted safely, presents a promising seed bed for our harvest, 
and under present conditions one of the easiest of accomplish- 
ment.” 

“We must now turn our attention to local conditions,” said 
Mr. Dornham. “Beeker is a weakling. If we had had a 
strong congressman with Scanlan that District of Columbia bill 
would never have passed. We must have a better man in his 
place. I have about decided to send Courtney to Congress.” 

“Courtney!” exclaimed Babson with a tone of protest. 

“Regardless of our personal opinions, he is the strongest 
man we have.” 


108 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


Mr. Dornham had anticipated a scene with Babson at any 
suggestion of preferment of Courtney, but he only asked : 

“Have you heard that he is to appear as assistant prosecut- 
ing attorney in the O’Connell-Gardner murder case?” 

“By whom employed?” demanded the banker. 

“Presumably, of course, by the wife; but District Attorney 
Hamlin thinks the W .C. T. U. is financing it.” 

“I am surprised to hear this of Courtney,” said Mr. Dorn- 
ham, thoughtfully. “Yet I believe you lawyers claim the privi- 
lege of accepting clientele irrespective of your personal atti- 
tude, and he is, therefore, at liberty to take the case. I am 
unable to understand, however, why he should have been 
sought, being unidentified in any manner with their cause.” 

“I, too, was unable to understand it,” replied Babson, 
watching the effect of his statement upon Mr. Dornham, “until 
last evening at the quarterly banquet of our Bar Association. 
I sat opposite him and noticed his champagne stood untouched 
and I heard him make the statement to his neighbor that he had 
very reluctantly come to the conclusion that alcohol as a bev- 
erage has no place in civilized government.” 

“Why, Fletcher, you astonish me!” exclaimed Mr. Dorn- 
ham. “What could have brought this about?” 

“O, he and this specialist, Morrison, I understand, are quite 
close friends. Perhaps he has caught his fanaticism. I think 
you’ll be disappointed in Courtney when you find him out.” 

For some minutes Mr. Dornham was thoughtfully silent. 

“We must not lose this man!” he finally announced. “I 
fear you do not appreciate the importance of Courtney to our 
cause. His ability as a public speaker, his legal knowledge and 
his qualities of leadership make him invaluable to us. We must 
bind him to us before there is further dissatisfaction. I will 
also silence — or better — use this fanatic, Morrison.” 

“For my part, Mr. Dornham, I don’t see anything good in 
Courtney. But since you want to make him congressman, all 
right. I hope you’ll have better luck than I am having with 
Walton. He’s getting strong in his fight on the saloon.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


109 


“Where does he bank?” asked Mr. Dornham. 

“First National, and is not a borrower.” 

“And he still refuses to take your advertising?” 

“At any price.” 

“Then take away what advertising he has,” instructed Mr. 
Dornham. “We’ll see how long he’ll bank without borrow- 
ing.” 

As Mr. Babson retired, the banker telephoned Courtney. 
Mr. Courtney was not in, the answer came, but would be ad- 
vised that Mr. Dornham wished to see him immediately upon 
his return. 

At that previous time when Mr. Dornham had offered 
Courtney a seat in Congress, he was sincere. He believed that 
hope was sufficient to hold him faithful, but with this alarming 
information which Babson had just given him he was unwilling 
for an hour to pass without securing him by stronger ties. 

In his morning’s mail Courtney had received a letter from 
the bank inquiring as to the status of the Gardner mortgage. 
Though conscious that it was detail with which the banker did 
not burden himself, he decided to take the case direct to Mr. 
Dornham. He was on his way when the call from the banker 
came. 

“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Dornham, “I am glad to see you.” 

Each ignorant of the other’s purpose, the lawyer proceeded 
to state his case, together with some of the facts of his personal 
acquaintance with the dead man. 

“There are features of this transaction I do not like,” said 
he. “I want your advice.” 

For the twinkling of an eye there was the expression of 
petulance in the banker’s face. Then it changed. The subject 
which the attorney had brought for discussion had not only 
created a perspective of the character of the man with whom he 
was to deal, but had opened an avenue of approach to the 
more important subject for which he had not hoped. 


no 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“It was for a conference on just such a matter that I tele- 
phoned, asking you to call,” said Mr. Dornham, “and I am 
pleased that you have brought this matter direct to me. The 
staunchest friends of the saloon can not deny that they have 
become offensively corrupt.” And watching the effect of this 
statement, the banker continued : “However improvident 
Gardner may have been, I have no doubt that Jacobi permitted 
him to borrow at times when he was incapable of transacting 
business. While not technically fraudulent, this was unwise, 
and from a moral viewpoint, unfair. It is just such acts as this 
and the consequent violence of the bartender, which are now 
threatening the extinction of a legitimate industry and the 
unfair destruction of millions of dollars of invested capital.” 

To the hesitation of Mr. Dornham, an evident invitation 
for comment, Courtney did not respond. Having caught the 
statement that the banker had requested his visit, he was wait- 
ing the expression of the business in question in the banker’s 
own way. 

“The business, as you know, is interwoven in almost every 
fiber of commerce and politics,” continued Mr. Dornham, con- 
fidentially, “and I believe that any radical action on the part 
of the government would have a most destructive influence. 
For this reason and for the ultimate purpose of effecting tem- 
perance, I have consented to do what I can to restore to it 
respectability. I mean to force it within reasonable legal 
bounds. To do this, we must have men of brains and charac- 
ter, both as legal advisors and as representatives in the National 
Congress; men of your type, Mr. Courtney, who will not tol- 
erate dishonest practice or stand for unwise legislation.” 

“This expression of your good opinion, Mr. Dornham, is 
very kind and something which I sincerely appreciate, but ” 

“Only a statement of fact,” interrupted the banker. “I 
sometimes think we business men are not frank enough in our 
expressions of esteem of our fellows, but I have tried in a more 
substantial manner to show my confidence. A customer of the 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


111 


bank has applied to me to suggest an attorney of the kind 
which I have described, and I have named you. You will find 
this client liberal; I am authorized to say your annual retainer 
will be sixty thousand dollars, payable in equal monthly pay- 
ments.” 

“One would be greatly lacking in appreciation, Mr. Dorn- 
ham,” said Courtney, sincerely, “who could fail to be grateful 
for your kindness in this matter and your good intention; the 
retainer is certainly most liberal, but — ” 

“I thought it was quite liberal, Mr. Courtney; and yet, 
the service of men of your kind is not procurable every day. 
However, I am pleased that it meets your approval. And 
now,” he continued, “I have a commission which I wish to 
intrust to you on my own account. I understand you are a 
friend of Dr. Robert Morrison?” 

“We have been intimate since boyhood,” said Courtney, 
wonderingly. 

“I am sorry I have not the pleasure of knowing him, but 
I hope to have that privilege; he is said to be both learned and 
capable?” 

“His advantages have been all that one could ask, and I 
think he has made the: most of them. I consider him a man of 
excellent technical equipment and good common sense — prob- 
ably an unusual combination.” 

“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Dornham. “Common sense! 
That is fine; so many men are lacking in the practical ap- 
plication of knowledge to conditions as they exist. Just the 
man I have been looking for!” 

“I shall be pleased, Mr. Dornham, to arrange for you to 
meet Dr. Morrison,” proposed Courtney. 

“That is very kind of you, Mr. Courtney, and I shall not 
forget it. At present I shall entrust the commission to you. 
While the service I require is, I might say, simple, I have been 
unable to find the person with the technical knowledge and 


112 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


force of practical expression which is necessary. What I need 
is an article of not more than one thousand words, written 
from the standpoint of the analyst and logically convincing, 
upon the food value of beer,” 

“I think,” suggested Courtney, “that it would be best for 
you to consult Dr. Morrison himself, Mr. Dornham. The 
nature of such a paper would naturally fix its value to you. 
Perhaps you are not aware that he has some very positive 
opinions on this subject?” 

“O, probably true, probably true! But you just mentioned 
that Dr. Morrison is a practical man,” said Mr. Dornham, 
leaning toward Courtney and lowering his voice. “When you 
explain to him my purpose he will understand what I need. 
Such an article from Dr. Morrison is worth a handsome sum — 
I might say a princely sum. It is worth one hundred — thou- 
sand — dollars!” 

The last sentence was spoken slowly, ponderously. To the 
banker it was as if he were the leader of a mighty orchestra 
rendering the national anthem, when all men should stand and 
bare their heads. 

Slowly Courtney rose to his feet, the blood tingling in 
every vein. He had waited for an opportunity to explain to 
Mr. Dornham his own changed attitude toward the business 
which he was solicited to serve. He sincerely appreciated all 
that the offer for his legal services would have meant to him, 
a few weeks before, and what he believed to be the sincere 
mental approval by Mr. Dornham of his ability. But in the 
last proposition Mr. Dornham had offered to buy his honor! 
In a moment his mind swept the field of his whole experience; 
he saw his father laboring under a life-long burden of debt, 
but there was no dishonor. Quickly reviewing his own strug- 
gles and temptations, there was no place where one had so dis- 
honored him as to offer the insult of a bribe. 

Disregarding the loss of the Dornham Bank as a client, 
he was forming his indignant reply, when the vision of Helen, 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


113 


the woman he loved, came before him. Standing there he 
struggled with the contending forces as the wild roe writhes 
under the tightening coils of the python. Perhaps the call of 
his own heart prompted the thought, but would he not be 
unjust to Helen to create a breach between himself and her 
father ? 

Mr. Dornham leaned back in his chair with the air of one 
who has satisfactorily completed an important task. Courtney 
stood gazing at the floor without reply, then left the room. 
Mr. Dornham’s eyes followed him to the door, and he smiled. 
Glancing at his desk, he called : 

“O, Courtney!” 

Returning, he stood in the doorway while Mr. Dornham 
advanced holding two pieces of paper in his hand. 

“Pardon my absentmindedness,” said he. “This,” handing 
him a check issued by the Gugenheim-Bunch Brewing Com- 
pany for five thousand dollars, “is your first month s retainer. 
And,” he continued presenting another, signed by himself for 
the sum of one hundred thousand dollars, “this is the doctor’s 
remuneration for the work he is to do. I am trusting the mat- 
ter entirely to your hands; if it costs less, you are the bene- 
ficiary, if more, the amount is not important.” 

As if dazed, Courtney took the checks from Mr. Dornham, 
and scanned them closely. Then folding carefully, he tore 
them into strips and contemptuously flung the pieces at the 
banker’s feet. 

“What!” — gasped Mr. Dornham. 

“It means,” said Courtney, his voice and frame shaken with 
anger, while his words pierced like cold steel; “It means, damn 
your dirty money!” 

As the door slammed behind the retiring attorney, Mr. 
Dornham stood speechlessly staring at the door. Then he tot- 
tered to his desk and sank heavily into his chair. Every nerve 
was shaken to its center, and mopping the great drops of per- 
spiration from his brow he gasped : 


114 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Impossible! Impossible!” 

He beat upon his breast as if to awaken himself from a 
horrible dream. Surely his ears had played him falsely, his 
eyes had deceived him! Yet there, upon his Persian rug lay 
scattered worthless pieces of paper which a few moments before 
had been wealth — spurned wealth! Had the Bank of Eng- 
land failed, had his own powerful bank closed its doors, he 
could not have been more severely shocked. Half an hour 
later he stirred, picked up the bits of paper from the floor and 
laying them on his desk, pieced out the checks: 

“Too small, too small!” he mused. “He’s a grasping 
devil!” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


115 


CHAPTER XIX 

BREWER DORNHAM PRESENTED TO BANKER DORNHAM 
*'What! JV ould’ St thou have a serpent sting thee 
twiceT* 


Phil Dornham made his temperance pledge 
V/^ to his father he meant to keep it: he believed he 
could keep it. For a week he confined himself to 
three bottles of beer a day, but it proved only a tease to his 
appetite. Changing to three stiff drinks of distilled liquor gave 
no relief, and the months that followed proved only an exag- 
gerated example of those that preceded his pledge. Another 
scene with his father followed, and once more his pledge was 
registered in the family record. 

During the struggle of the weeks that followed, he rose 
at times above his enemy; at times, like a vulture at his vitals, 
the craving appetite caused his will to waver, and then there 
came a day whereon three times he dashed the half-raised glass 
away, but three times there came the blighting, blistering thirst 
enforced by social custom. 


It was late in the afternoon that he entered his father’s 
office; his face was drawn, and he shook as an aspen leaf 
quivering in the heat of an August sun. 

“Father,” said he, “what is this I hear of saloon money be- 
ing used to build the hospital in your name that a reputable 
leader might be created for the liquor interest?” 

Slowing turning to his son, Mr. Dornham invited him to 
be seated. 

“Why do you ask that, my son?” he inquired. 

“It was stated to me as fact, and I contradicted it. Should 
I have done so?” 

Mr. Dornham did not make immediate reply. That was a 
transaction of which he would have preferred that his son re- 
main in ignorance. 

“Something had to be done quickly,” said he, “to check the 
rapid progress in the destruction of vested capital, and to re- 


116 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


Store respectability to a business which has made itself hateful. 
What I hope to accomplish is in behalf of temperance.” 

“Temperance for whom?” asked Phil, impatiently. “While 
I have suffered tortures since my last pledge to you, since when 
I have not taken a drop, you are planning to satisfy other 
men’s appetites. That is either not fair to me or to them.” 

“You do not understand, my son,” replied his father; “it 
is strong liquors to which I object. Enjoy your beer if you 
wish, but abstain from distilled liquors.” 

“Impossible, father. Besides, I like the effect of liquor 
better.” 

“And what does it do to you?” asked Mr. Dornham. “That 
is just why eventually distilled liquors must be abolished.” 

“But,” inquired Phil, “are not the distillers contributing to 
this fund?” 

“This is no time to separate their interests,” replied Mr. 
Dornham. 

“Why, father,” persisted Phil in amazement, “do you con- 
sider that a fair deal ?” 

“We will not discuss that point,” replied Mr. Dornham, 
“Why, you are trembling; are you ill?” he asked, for the first 
time noticing his condition. 

“I want a drink,” said the young man in a tone that 
brought pity to his father’s heart. 

“In the locker,” said he, “you will find some beer.” 

That night eleven o’clock came with Philip Dornham wait- 
ing for his son; twelve o’clock passed, and as the clock struck 
two, Phil staggered in. 

“Phil cannot stand this, father,” said Helen two weeks 
later. “ He is in a bad condition this morning, and should have 
medical treatment.” 

“Medical treatment!” mocked Mr. Dornham. “He should 
have some sense.” 

“But, father, you do not realize what a state he is in; I 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


117 


found him just now out of his room looking strangely and 
muttering about some horrible thing having its claws in your 
eyes.” 

“Mix him a stiff drink,” he directed and continued reading 
his paper. 

“But, father — ” and Helen hesitated. “Let me call — a 
doctor — Dr. Morrison; he’s a specialist.” 

“He’s a fanatical fool!” he replied impatiently. “If the 
drink does not quiet him, call the family physician.” 

But as Helen left the room he let his paper slip to the floor. 

“Why am I so dull?” he asked himself, going to the tele- 
phone and calling Dr. Morrison for an immediate visit. 

When the doctor arrived he found Phil perched upon the 
dresser with Helen at the door, wringing her hands, and in 
tears. 

“Have you got the gun?” Phil asked. “There he is! Quick, 
quick! Don’t you see him boring his tail into the governor’s 
ears? There, stop him; he’s clawing his long fingers into his 
eyes. O, look! Now father’s blind!” 

“Phil, Phil !” spoke the doctor, kindly. 

“There, stop him!” he screamed, his hands outstretched as 
if to guard attack. “Look! He’s drawn his knife and there’s 
blood — there’s blood on it. Watch him lick out his bloody 
tongue. He’s eating hearts — human hearts! He’s coming! 
There, I tell you he’s coming! Stop him!” 

“Phil, there is nothing to harm you,” said Dr. Morrison 
going to him. 

“O, poor Helen!” he sobbed. He’s smothering her under 
a pile of gold — gold! Look! There, he’s pouring another 
load on her! Don’t you hear her cry? Quick! Stop him! 
O, for God’s sake, stop him!” 

As he gave way in exhaustion. Dr. Morrison caught him in 
his arms and laid him upon the bed. Helen having summoned 
her father, stood frightened and weeping by his side. 

“Come,” said Mr. Dornham, “you must leave the room.” 


118 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“No,” said she, “I’ll stay.” 

“I need her,” said the doctor, and writing two addresses 
he handed the paper to Helen: “Take your car,” said he, “and 
bring these nurses as quickly as possible.” 

During the days immediately following, Helen refused to 
leave her brother’s bedside except under the compulsion of 
physical exhaustion. At times the patient raved and fought the 
demons that tormented him, or begged them piteously for mercy. 
In the contest of life and death no one could predict the vic- 
tor. In the early hours each day, the quickening pulse gave 
hope of life, but as the hours waned at times hope well-nigh 
fled. It was not until the tenth day that Dr. Morrison an- 
nounced to Helen: 

“I think our battle’s won.” 

Mr. Dornham had aged during those days. Now that his 
son was recovering he was sincerely grateful to Dr. Morrison. 
During his convalescence, Phil frequently rode with the doctor 
on his professional journeyings, and returning from one of 
these Mr. Dornham detained the physician. 

“I am convinced,” said he, “that alcoholic, that is, distilled 
liquors must sooner or later be eliminated from commerce.” 

“I fear your conviction has come too late for what you 
have in mind, Mr. Dornham,” replied the doctor. 

“Why, you do not anticipate a recurrence of this experience 
with Phil, do you?” he inquired with fatherly concern. 

“Under existing conditions it is practically certain.” 

“But,” he inquired, “can’t you prevent it? The fee is not 
material.” 

“Conquer a diseased appetite!” exclaimed Dr. Morrison. 
“Why, Mr. Dornham, the natural appetite is the strongest 
passion known to the human race, and Phil is diseased.” 

“But,” persisted the father, “he says he has no appetite for 
drink, not the slightest desire.” 

“Ah, sir, that is true; medical treatment has to an extent 
cleared his system and partially restored the diseased parts; 
but it cannot obliterate the damage to certain brain cells and 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


119 


nerve tissue. Remember, I said ‘under existing conditions.’ 
Wait until he meets the environment of social custom, hears 
the click of the social glass, sees the sparkle of the wine, and 
attempts to resist the banter of his associates. I fear for your 
son, Mr. Dornham.” 

“But,” he asked anxiously, “can nothing be done?” 

“Yes,” replied the doctor, “but nothing which you are will- 
ing to do. Has your son ever attempted to stop drinking, or 
even drink moderately, Mr. Dornham?” 

“Yes,” he slowly replied. 

“And he failed. The reason,” continued Dr. Morrison, “is 
not that Phil is vicious or weak. Your son, Mr. Dornham, 
is made of stuff which you cannot comprehend. You love 
money; he possesses those characteristics of mind and soul 
which grow great men. His was once the kind of intellect of 
which statesmen are made, whose passion makes orators, whose 
love makes homes. But it is such as he that your laws and 
social customs make wrecks of — wrecks with dullards’ 
minds, wrecks that rob the nation of its due, that wring from 
homes the cry of broken hearts, and leave dead hopes — skele- 
tons grinning into the faces of men and asking, ‘Why?’ ” 

“You are exceedingly interesting. Dr. Morrison,” said the 
banker, “but do you not think it quite doubtful, even danger- 
ous, to try to revolutionize social custom all at once? Many of 
the most ardent temperance people believe that the surest way 
of bringing real temperance is by the substitution of the lighter 
wines and beers for distilled spirits, and I thoroughly agree with 
them.” 

“Probably,” replied the doctor, “there would be less acute 
alcoholism; but why should it be thought necessary to have al- 
coholism at all? If we inebriate our sons and daughters by 
degrees and ultimately bring them to the same state of mental 
and physical degeneracy, are we the less guilty of crime?” 

“That is accepting the theory that beer degenerates,” count- 
ered Mr. Dornham. “Unfortunately for your theory, I have 
only to cite you to Germany, the largest beer consuming peo- 


120 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


pie of the world, and yet, as the war has developed, the most 
efficient fighters in the world.” 

“What do you consider efficiency in the army, Mr. Dorn- 
ham?” asked the doctor. 

“An army that falters at no obstacle, and hesitates at no 
command,” replied Mr. Dornham. 

“Then, I do not believe you have overestimated what beer 
has done for Germany,” said Dr. Morrison. “A year in Ger- 
many expressly for study of psychological and physiological con- 
ditions prepared me for all that Germany has accomplished.” 

“The Germans are wonderful people, Dr. Morrison. You 
know of course that their great endurance is attributed to the 
food value of beer.” 

“By whom is it thus attributed, Mr. Dornham?” 

“Why, I read it only yesterday; it was a statement by an 
eminent physician, published in the Brewer’s Gazette,” replied 
the banker. “It is something about which I have been wanting 
to talk with you.” 

“The food value of beer?” asked the doctor. 

“It is a subject in which I am greatly interested,” said 
Mr. Dornham, “and since you have had the opportunity of 
study in Germany, I am sure you are prepared to speak au- 
thoritatively.” 

“That, Mr. Dornham,” smiled Dr. Morrison, “while not 
included in my study, is a simple matter which can be stated in 
a few words and verified by any competent analyst. An or- 
dinary stein of beer contains one-half ounce of nutrient extract, 
twenty-six grains of albumenoids, and thirteen grains of free 
acids.” 

“Ah, you have the idea,” exclaimed Mr. Dornham; “that is 
splendid. Such a statement from you. Doctor, would do much 
to wean men away from injurious liquors.” 

“I shall be glad to write it out for you, Mr. Dornham, if 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


121 


you think it will be valuable,” said the doctor. “But of course 
you would want all the facts.” 

“Certainly, certainly,” said the banker delightedly. “This 
is most kind of you, doctor.” 

“The combined nutrient value of this stein of beer,” con- 
tinued the doctor, “is equivalent to one square inch of ordinary 
baker’s bread. In other words, to derive the food value of one 
five cent loaf of bread, one must consume seventy-two mugs of 
beer at a cost of three dollars and sixty cents — ” 

“But— but—” 

“Allow me to finish, Mr. Dornham,” said the doctor smil- 
ingly. “When the man in search of your food and temperance 
beverage has finished his ‘meal’, he will have consumed twenty- 
four ounces of pure alcohol.” 

Mr. Dornham was disconcerted. So pleased was he with 
the first analytical figures of the doctor that he failed to see 
that they were loaded and the explosion had come upon him 
unawares. 

“Doctor,” said he, “you contradict your own admission; 
you acknowledge what beer has done for Germany — ” 

“Ah, to be sure!” replied the doctor. “As you have indi- 
cated, Germany is the largest consumer of beer of any country 
in the world. Beer has not only had its influence upon the 
German army in the war, but it was largely responsible for 
preparing the German mind for the kind of war we are having. 
From the first ruthless step that Germany made upon Belgian 
soil, breaking her solemn covenant with the nations of the 
world, to where her soldiery murdered unarmed men, forcibly 
violated the chastity of defenseless women, and pinioned suck- 
ling babes upon their bayonets, she has confirmed my conclu- 
sions of years ago of the degenerate mind of that beer-soaked 
nation. Today the world stands agape, wondering if there is 
anything more horrible which the German mind can effectuate. 
The world is waking to the realization that this toll of blood 
is chargeable to the brutalizing influence of Germany’s national 
beverage.” 


122 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“I had hoped, doctor,” said Mr. Dornham, rising with ex- 
treme disgust, “that we might join efforts in behalf of temper- 
ance. I see I was mistaken.” 

“In other words, Mr. Dornham,” replied the doctor, “you 
prefer men to die respectably of Bright’s disease, apoplexy, 
heart lesion or other beer degeneration rather than delirium 
tremens because that is repulsive and inconvenient to have in 
the house. To be frank, Mr. Dornham, your interests are 
those of the brewer rather than of the distiller.” 

Being in possession of information which Mr. Dornham 
believed was known only to himself and his most intimate asso- 
ciates, Dr. Morrison had not failed to see through the thin 
covering of pretended interest in temperance. 

“It’s false!” exclaimed the banker. “You have no right — ” 

“Wait, Mr. Dornham,” said the doctor, quietly. “I am 
not trying to purchase your stock. I have told you the truth 
about beer; and I have tried to reveal Brewer Dornham to 
Banker Dornham. I leave him with you.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


123 


CHAPTER XX 

A MAN^ NOT A HIRELING 
"'Honor sits smiling at the sale of truth.'" 

U PON the day of his break with Mr. Dornham, Court- 
ney had entered the banker’s office with that respect 
which honor bears toward its equal; he had left with 
the loathing virtue holds to the character assassin. Philip 
Dornham was the first and only man who had dared to pilfer 
his conscience — to buy his self-respect. Numerous had been the 
times when he would gladly have recalled words spoken in 
anger, but this was not one of them. Conscious and grieved 
at the prospect of a widening breach between himself and 
Helen, he immediately sought her. Determined to shield her 
from a knowledge of her father’s real self, he found it difficult 
to explain a disagreement the cause of which he could not 
reveal or explain. 

“I know father is determined, Dave,” said she, “but I’m 
sure he’ll be fair. Try to understand him.” 

“Helen, dear, your father and I are differently constituted; 
we cannot be sympathetic with each other‘s viewpoint. But 
whatever comes, promise, sweetheart, that you will believe me 
sincere.” 

“O Dave, try to keep sweet with my father. I’m sure he’ll 
not demand anything that is not really honorable and right. 
You know I love you, Dave, and believe — I know you are both 
sincere and noble. But think what father is to me and I to 
him.” 

“Darling, for you I would make any sacrifice a man can 
make. Believing that my personal relations with Mr. Dorn- 
ham may be more agreeable if only social, I have given up my 
position as attorney for the bank. I hope our relations may 
now become reconciled.” 

“I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake in that, Dave; whatever 
his objections may be to you as a son-in-law, father thinks 


124 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


you’re a great lawyer, and he always demands the best. He 
won’t like it.” 

“It cannot be otherwise, my dearest; it is best.” 

“But Dave—” 

“Trust me, sweetheart; only promise that nothing shall sep- 
arate us.” 

“I will love you always.” 

Mr. Dornham did not discuss with Helen his disagreement 
with Courtney. While it was an incident most humiliating, 
he regarded it as only his first attack at what he proposed to 
make a successful drive — he believed Courtney to be only play- 
ing for a larger stake. But he dared not, he must not, he 
would not lose him as an ally in the herculean task upon which 
he had entered. He would pay the price. 

To Helen’s astonishment her father suggested that she 
have Mr. Courtney for dinner the following evening, at which 
he was a most entertaining host. During the evening he again 
introduced the subject of Courtney’s political future assuring 
him of the undivided support of the large business interests of 
that portion of Brewerton which composed the third Congres- 
sional district, and the undoubted success of his candidacy. 
Helen was delighted. Courtney was suspicious. When Mr. 
Dornham called at his office a week later Courtney received 
him cordially. 

“Mr. Courtney,” he began. “I regret that you failed to 
understand me in our last interview.” And while he proceeded 
to defend his action, the lawyer studied him with a new inter- 
est, and with an enlightening understanding. 

“I think, Mr. Dornham, your difficulty is that you misin- 
terpret me. However, that incident is closed. Our relations in 
the future will be social only. I hope they may be mutually 
pleasant.” 

The expression upon Mr. Dornham’s face was that of in- 
nocuous perplexity. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


125 


“Mr. Courtney, in the light of our past relations, your con- 
duct is unintelligible,” said he helplessly. “Please state what 
you consider fair and right — ^what you want.” 

“I am about to become convinced, Mr. Dornham, that you 
are speaking the truth; that you are unconscious of the offense 
you have offered both me and my friend. Dr. Morrison.” 

“Offense!” exclaimed the banker. “Why, I consider that 
I paid Dr. Morrison the highest possible compliment; in a life- 
time few men earn the sum I was willing — am willing to pay 
for a day’s work. But since you consider it insufficient, I will 
let you name the price.” 

Courtney was now convinced of the accuracy of the thought 
which had been growing in his mind. After all, Mr. Dorn- 
ham was honest. Had he not himself a few weeks before held 
principles as just, which he now knew to be error — even 
vicious? Philip Dornham was not merely the honest purloiner 
of other men’s conscience, he was diseased — diseased with the 
American sickness of Wealth — hipped with the infatuation of 
the power of money. He measured the sunshine, not by its 
beauty and warmth, not by its correlated harmony of color 
gathered in the rainbow, but by its power to grow grain with 
money value. In the estimation of Philip Dornham, the Intel- 
lect, the Soul — Man — had no greater distinction, no higher 
mission, than to symbolize in large degree the letter S with two 
perpendicular bars through it; no decoration had ever or could 
be bestowed comparable to the insignia of the American Dollar. 
And like the chameleon of the leaden desert, environment had 
fixed unchangeably the pigment of his character. 

“You and I, Mr. Dornham,” said he, “can never have sym- 
pathetic appreciation of each other’s views upon this subject.” 

“That,” quickly replied the banker, “does not hinder you 
from remaining counsellor for the bank and accepting the 
retainer from the Gugenheim-Bunch Company.” 

“When you made that offer,” explained Courtney, “you 
did not permit me to say that my own convictions had changed 


126 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


upon the subject of alcoholic beverages. While I sincerely ap- 
preciated the compliment, I could not then and I cannot now 
accept it. And after thoroughly considering the matter, I 
think it only just to you, Mr. Dornham, that you engage 
counsel for the bank more in harmony with your views, as I 
have come to know them.” 

The quiet decision of Courtney, carrying the unmistakable 
note of finality, thoroughly aroused Mr. Dornham; he was no 
longer a suppliant: 

“Do you know,” he warned, “what that means? It means 
the rejection of a fortune which you have not allowed me to 
name; it means the sacrifice of a seat in the next Congress 
with but a step to the United States Senate. And who can 
tell what’s beyond?” 

“Pardon me, Mr. Dornham,” said Courtney, it means that 
I wear no man’s collar!” 

For the first time in his life Philip Dornham had met with 
a state of mind and a principle of character which he did not 
believe existed; he was facing a condition where money had no 
power, where ambition made no appeal. He was not angry; 
he was stunned. Like the tramp waking from a dream of vast 
wealth to the realization of his rags and tin can, the banker 
with all his wealth and political power was helplessly impotent. 
Without reply he had reached the door. Suddenly he stopped. 
As one lost in the night who sees a flickering light, he came 
slowly back to Courtney’s desk. 

“Do you remember a request you made of me some months 
ago?” he asked. “Do you still entertain that desire?” 

“Have you reference to my request for your daughter’s 
hand in marriage, Mr. Dornham?” asked Courtney wonder- 
ingly. 

“Had I known you better I might have given a different 
reply. But,” he continued after a moment’s hesitation, “feeling 
as you do toward me and my interests, such a family relation 
would be impossible.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


127 


“Mr. Dornham,” said Courtney with a slight tremor in his 
voice, “I was sincere when I told you that my supreme life’s 
desire is to make Helen my wife. I have not changed.” 

“If that could be accomplished, you will admit that there 
should be co-operation of our interests.” 

“Meaning,” said Courtney, leaning across his desk and look- 
ing straight into the banker’s eyes, “that you offer to sell your 
consent to the marriage of your daughter in exchange for my 
adoption of your views and my acceptance of the role of coun- 
sellor for the liquor business.” 

“I would not put it just that way, Mr. Courtney. Since I 
talked with you on the subject I have become convinced that 
Helen would be pleased if the way could be cleared to your 
union. It is only fair that I warn you that co-operation with 
me will be wisdom on your part.” 

For a moment Courtney was silent. 

“Mr. Dornham,” said he, his flashing eye boring into the 
banker, “I think it probable that your mental and moral 
make-up will preclude your understanding of what I am going 
to say: I have pledged your daughter all that I have — a man’s 
devotion, a man’s honor. She would be unwilling to receive 
less. Helen shall have all that I have promised her.” 

“All that you have promised!” he roared. “What do you 
mean?” 

“I mean,” said Courtney, coolly, “that when your daughter 
marries me she shall marry a man; not Philip Dornham ’s 
hireling.” 

Mr. Dornham only gasped. From the door he turned, his 
face purple with rage. 

“Marry — marry!” he panted. “My daughter will not pick 
her husband from the poor house! I’ll ruin — I’ll crush you as 
I would an ant; you shall be ignored and forgotten of men. 
You will beg mercy of me when it is too late!” 


128 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XXI 

THE METHOD OF THE HUN 
'T will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.” 

I N HIS morning’s mail the following day the first letters 
which Courtney opened were from three of his most valued 
clients. While their interests were in no way allied, one 
being a farm implement manufacturing corporation, another a 
milling company and the third a live stock exchange, the pur- 
port of these letters was strangely alike. Each was courteous, 
and to the point, informing Courtney that his services as attor- 
ney were no longer desired, but giving no reason for their 
action. Upon reading the first of these, the manner of dis- 
missal being so entirely unusual, he was uncertain whether 
it was a cause for anger or only regret. His bewilderment 
deepened into confusion at the second, but a glance at the third 
made him understand. 

But had these failed to explain the full meaning of Mr. 
Dornham’s threats of the previous day, a letter from Helen in 
the same mail convinced him that they were not the mere rav- 
ings of impotent rage. 

“Dear Mr. Courtney:” Helen wrote, “Father has informed 
me that, without provocation, you have grossly insulted him. 
That you should have spoken disrespectfully of me is something 
for which I can think of no reason. But for one of your age to 
abuse a man of his years is beyond my comprehension. He has 
forbidden me to see or speak to you, but if you care to explain, 
I will make an appointment to see you at the home of Rose 
Horlick. 

“I am utterly bewildered and miserable. 

Sincerely, 

Helen Dornham.” 

While clients impatiently waited in his reception room, he 
read and reread Helen’s letter. 

“What explanation can I make?” he asked himself in utter 
despair. He could not tell the woman he loved that her father 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


129 


had offered him money for his honor; he could not say to her 
that her own father had proposed to traffic her hand in mar- 
riage for a price! How could he brand the father she loved, 
and whose honor she cherished, a falsifier — a common liar? 

His first impulse was to go to her at once, to beg her to 
trust him, though she could not understand him. With all the 
ardor of his heart he longed to see her. But he dared not trust 
himself in her presence. No explanation without the truth 
would satisfy her; and Helen must not know. 

To his note confessing the impossibility of offering an ex- 
planation other than her father’s inability to understand him, 
and entreating her faith and love, he received no reply. Dur- 
ing the day he still hoped that Helen would at least let him 
know that she would wait, that she would not wholly con- 
demn him, and at each ring of the telephone he grasped the 
receiver hoping to hear her voice. Fearing she might call when 
he was out, he did not lunch at noon, and only when despairing 
of receiving the assurance of her confidence did he leave his 
office. 

As he turned the corner into Beeker street on the way to 
his club, a crowd filling half the street attracted his attention. 
Peering over the heads in front of Carl Schwartzberg’s saloon, 
he saw the sandwich boy, who had so successfully disappeared 
upon the day of his first meeting. He had often thought of 
the pinched, hungry face and more than once had come the 
question, “Mister, yer ain’t never been a drunkard’s boy, have 
ye?” But this was his first sight of the boy since the day he 
had declined a meal at the sacrifice of discarding his campaign 
sign. The sandwich sign which he wore now was painted in 
large clear letters, and perched upon a beer keg, he was saying: 

“O chase yerself, ole Corkscrew! Yer takes my bed every 
night an’ ye eats my breakfus every mornin,’ an’ I’m borrowin’ 
yer ole keg just onst.” 

Looking in the direction of his sally, Courtney saw the 
white aproned saloon keeper gesticulating and swearing. 


130 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Mister,” said the boy, ‘tain’t no use cussin’; yer robbin’ 
dese here fellers an’ their boys just like yer robbin’ my pa an’ 
me, an’ we’se agoin’t put yer out er bis. Does yer get that?” 

The crowd cheered ; some went into the saloon while oth- 
ers came out to take their places. 

“O, be a sport!” goaded the boy. “Learn how to lose an’ 
go to work like these hones’ men; they’se been a-workin’ for 
yo’ long enough, an’ they’s made up their minds they’s agoin’t 
work fer they own babies an’ let yo’ work fer yerself.” 

“That’s the truth!” shouted a man in overalls near Court- 
ney; and again the crowd cheered. 

“Why, Mister,” continued the speaker, pointing his finger 
at the saloon-keeper. “I slep’ on er pile er straw las’ night 
’cause you had my bed; you eat that man’s little boy’s chicken 
dumplin’ fer yer dinner today, and your wife’s ridin’ in that 
man’s wife’s auto-go-vragin. And I ain’t got no bed, an’ that 
man’s little boy’s hungry, and that man’s wife’s walkin’ to her 
work in de factory through de mud.” 

“He’s tellin’ you some truth, Carl!” yelled a man from the 
outskirts of the crowd. 

“Und I vill prake his tarn pack fer him!” swore Schwartz- 
berg as he entered his saloon. 

“No ye won’t,” the boy flung back fearlessly. “Ye’ll starve 
me like ye’ve been doin’, ye crooked old corkscrew!” 

As he came out of the saloon, pushing his way through the 
crowd, the saloon-keeper drew a beer bottle from under his 
apron and let drive with a mighty swing at the boy. Still 
addressing his audience, his head was turned to the right, and 
the bottle hit him fairly over the left temple. The sandwich boy 
crumpled upon the cobble-stones. 

Reaching Schwartzberg an instant too late to stop the 
cowardly act, Mr. Courtney grasped his throat in a vice-like 
grip just in time to prevent further assault upon the boy. Strik- 
ing the drawn knife from the saloon man’s hand with one swift 
blow he sent him to the pavement as a policeman laid a heavy 
hand upon his shoulder and declared him under arrest. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


131 


“Under arrest!” exclaimed Courtney. “What do you 
mean?” 

“Mean what I say, Mr. Highbrow!” 

“I demand that you arrest that man who made the assault 
upon the boy!” exclaimed Courtney with indignant anger. 

“Come along now, or you’ll get the wristlets,” said the 
officer. “Carl, get back in your place and stay there; and you 
fellows clean out of this.” 

As the officer held him by the arm, an automobile signalling 
for an open road stopped for the way to be cleared. In it 
Courtney saw Helen Dornham by the side of her father, and 
as she caught his eye her face went deathly pale. Suddenly 
she arose as if to alight, then quickly dropping her veil, she 
sank back upon the seat. Mr. Dornham laughed. 


132 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XXII 

THE BANKER BECOMES A JUDAS 
^'Now infidel j I have thee on the hip^ 

M rs. HORLICK had just kissed her husband good- 
bye and was watching his receding runabout as he 
hurried to the bank when Helen drove under the 
porte-cochere. 

“Rose,” she cried, holding up The Dispatch, “isn’t it aw- 
ful?” 

“Why, what‘s awful, you darling?” asked Mrs. Horlick, 
taking her in her arms, as she looked into Helen’s tear-in- 
flamed eyes. 

“And to think. Rose, I saw it!” she exclaimed, bursting 
into a fresh paroxysm of tears, as she was led into the house. 
“Why, Helen, what on earth has happened? Tell me!” 
“Look — look there!” she cried, holding up the paper. 
“Haven’t you seen it?” 

“No, we don’t take The Dispatch f' replied Mrs. Horlick, 
reading the glaring headlines: 

“David Courtney arrested for disorderly conduct. Attor- 
ney of some prominence in street brawl with saloon-keeper.” 

“And just think of it. Rose,” continued Helen between 
sobs, “I saw the police arrest him! O, I shall never forget 
the look on his face!” 

“Well, well, dear,” comforted her friend, “perhaps when 
you know the whole story it may not be so bad. Wait for the 
afternoon papers — I’m sure The Intelligencer will give a cor- 
rect account of it.” 

“I never see it, father won’t let it come into the house 
and—” 

“I’ll do better than that,” interrupted her friend; “I’ll 
’phone Dick to find out about it and let me know at once.” 
“No,” exclaimed Helen, “you must not do that. If Dick 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


133 


calls him he’ll think I had him do it, and I wouldn’t have him 
think it for the world, after the way he has treated me.” 

“Why, you silly child ! Do you imagine he will think you 
are the only person who is interested in him? — There, I expect 
that is Dick now calling to tell me about it.” 

“Don’t tell him I’m here — don’t, don’t!” pleaded Helen, 
nestling close to her friend as she seated herself and took the 
receiver. 

“This is Dick,” came the voice. “Say, if you hear anything 
about The Dispatch's story of Dave’s mixup — ” 

“Here!” whispered Rose, motioning to Helen to hold a 
close ear — 

“What’s that?” he asked. 

“Nothing, nothing,” she giggled. “I was shooing the cat 
out; Go on, go on! What about Dave?” 

“Courtney had a mixup with a saloon-keeper yesterday and 
your friend. The Dispatch, has given him a raw deal. In other 
words, he is getting his dose. If your neighbors should be 
telling you about it, don’t let it worry you.” 

“Well, tell me about it, is he hurt? Did he kill anybody?” 

“Oh, no,” laughed Horlick. ''The Dispatch writes him up 
as raising a rough-house and assaulting the peaceable Mr. 
Schwartzberg. The only truth in the story is that he did give 
the Hun a knockout blow that he’ll remember awhile. But 
I’ll tell you when I come to lunch.” 

“But, Dick, listen! You said he was getting his dose; has 
he changed — ” 

“It seems so; I haven’t seen the scamp in a month, but 
Dr. Morrison tells me he has. Work’s waiting, kiddie — bye — ” 

“Now what do you think of that?” asked Mrs. Horlick. 

“I’ll never forgive him while I live. Rose. I knew he didn’t 
care! If he had, he would have made an explanation when I 
gave him the chance.” 

“But—” 

“There is absolutely no excuse. Rose,” persisted Helen, 
her mind having experienced a reaction upon news that he was 


134 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


not hopelessly disgraced. “And Dick admits that he has 
changed. 

“Changed?” said Rose wonderingly. 

“Yes, changed !” said Helen, tears filling her eyes. “Didn’t 
I hear Dick tell you that Dr. Morrison admitted it. That 
explains why he didn’t want to see me, doesn’t it?” 

“O, you darling little skeptic; Dave has changed his views 
about the liquor business, and The Dispatch — and I don’t know 
who else — is administering his punishment.” 

“O!” 

But Helen was wounded — deeply wounded. She had given 
him an opportunity to see her, which he had declined without 
offering an explanation of his conduct toward her father, and 
heredity would have been unfaithful to its law had it failed to 
transmit to her certain traits of inflexibility. 

Had Mrs. Horlick known what was transpiring in the 
banking office of Philip Dornham at that moment, perhaps she 
would not have speculated upon the hidden hand of persecu- 
tion behind The Dispatch. 

“But, Philip,” contended Mr. Roebstock, “in all my busi- 
ness experience this is your first time to refuse me the credit 
my business requires. I do not think you understand the im- 
portance of this matter. Perhaps, like myself, you have been 
content to rest your faith in the President. We may have felt 
only an indefinite responsibility in this war which has been 
forced upon us. I have just returned from Washington in con- 
ference with mine operators and government officials, and I 
am profoundly impressed with the individual responsibility of 
every citizen. Possibly the supreme need of the government 
just now is coal — more coal. Ships to carry food and war 
munitions to our men and the allies on the battle front are 
waiting for coal! winter is approaching and without a large 
increase in coal production there will be suffering and death in 
our own country — in our own city. My financial operations 
have been confined exclusively to your bank and with your 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


135 


knowledge of the excellent condition of my affairs, I had every 
reason to expect your co-operation. I have agreed with the 
government to double my present output.” 

“I’m not responsible, Roebstock,” stoically replied the 
banker, “for any contract you may have made or for your 
presumption in expecting to be financed by this bank. Possibly 
the people whose money you expected to use, thought they had 
reason to believe you would not join with the enemies of their 
business to discredit it at a time when the government is about 
to push them to the wall.” 

“To what do you refer, Philip?” Mr. Roebstock inquired 
wonderingly. 

“I’m informed that since your daughter’s wedding, influ- 
enced by her example, there have been no less than a dozen 
receptions in her set at which no alcoholic beverages were 
served. You can see to what such example leads in business. 
You once indignantly refused to correct that example. Per- 
haps—” 

“And I still refuse,” emphatically replied the mine owner. 
“That is a personal matter about which no one shall dictate, 
and I am surprised that you should suggest — ” 

“O, I do not mean that that is the cause of- the bank de- 
clining this credit,” said Mr. Dornham. “I only mention it to 
show you that you demand more than you are willing to give. 
I have good reason for refusing to increase our line of credit.” 
Watching the effect of his insinuating statement, he continued: 
“We have discovered a flaw in your titles of a very serious na- 
ture — so serious that your present indebtedness must be paid at 
maturity.” 

As he pronounced these words Mr. Dornham exhibited 
every impulse of a handsome maltese playing with a captive 
mouse. Mr. Roebstock’s face paled. 

“I cannot, I do not believe it; there is no defect in my 
titles,” said he, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “You 
are angry, Philip. Let me beg of you, dismiss personal feelings. 


136 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


Disregard me, but think of the need of the government and 
the people of our own city.” 

For weeks, Mr. Dornham had thought of little else than 
the government’s attitude toward the prohibition of the manu- 
facture of alcoholic beverages as contemplated in the food bill 
before Congress. It was the most serious problem which had 
ever confronted the interests with which every fiber of his 
being was in sympathy, and for which he was waging his 
gigantic campaign. Ten minutes before the entry of Mr. Roeb- 
stock he had been in conversation with his representative at 
Washington. He was informed that the most for which hope 
might be held out was delay. “Then delay!” the order went 
back. And the United States in its preparation for war with 
a foreign enemy, when delay meant possible defeat, was being 
held in the iron grip of Alcohol. 

“The government!” snarled Dornham. “Listen to me, 
Roebstock. I’m practical; you get excited about theories. Now 
listen; I don’t say that I want it. But with the present atti- 
tude of government toward business, I am not sure that we 
would not get as fair treatment from Germany as we may 
expect from Washington.” 

Instantly Mr. Roebstock was upon his feet. 

“That is treason, sir! Nothing short of treason; I will not 
listen to it!” 

“You pay the note when it comes due,” the banker flung 
at his retiring back; “I’ll take care of the treason.” 

In the progress of his campaign and its multiplying prob- 
lems, Mr. Dornham found himself growing each day more de- 
pendent upon Herman Samuels whose visits to the banker had 
now become a part of the daily program. While he could in 
no way take the place of the dependable Babson, his shrewd 
understanding of situations, and aptitude in directing under- 
ground politics often dispelled perplexing problems in a way 
most pleasing to his superior. The political boss had, there- 
fore, become a privileged caller whose comings were always 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


137 


welcomed. On this occasion, he passed the retiring coal miner 
almost at the threshold of the door. 

“Seems to be in a dudgeon,” said he, pointing over his 
shoulder. 

“He has too much coal moving from his mines, Samuels,” 
replied Mr. Dornham significantly. “He wants to engage you 
to stop it.” 

“Works them southern niggers, don’t he?” 

“I believe he does.” 

“I was lookin’ for somethin’ hard this mornin’; I’m dis- 
appointed,” laughed Samuels. “How much and how soon 
should work slow down?” 

“O, probably a complete rest would be good for his nerves. 
But remember,” he warned, “you mustn’t create trouble that 
will extend to the other mines.” 

“Not necessary,” Samuels assured him. “It will only need 
a few gallons of the stuff we used to sell to the old South Caro- 
lina Dispensary that the niggers down there called ‘Fuss XI,’ 
and in thirty minutes I can have niggers streamin’ out of them 
tunnels like black lasses pourin’ out of a grocer’s barrel.” 

“I am not interested in the details; results are what I 
want.” 

“Don’t let it keep you awake, sir,” laughed the boss. “But 
what I come to say this mornin’ is, that I am ready for O’Con- 
nell’s trial whenever it suits Hamlin.” 

“Do you think you have a good case now?” asked Mr. 
Dornham. 

“I want you to attend that trial, Mr. Dornham; I think 
I told you once before that I’d convince you that the fellers are 
not such a lawless bunch as you imagined. I’ve increased my 
bettin’ odds two to one on a clear verdict of not guilty.” 

“Well,” replied the banker wearily, “I wish I could feel 
as sure of clearing the Congressional food bill of its prohibition 
amendment.” 


138 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Wish I could help you,” said Samuels, “but I ain’t any 
big shakes at makin’ and killin’ laws in Washington. Guess 
my notions wouldn’t sound very good to you.” 

“What’s on your mind, Samuels?” asked the banker. “Let’s 
have it.” 

“If it weren’t for hard licker, Mr. Dornham, we could 
make ’em give beer a clean bill.” 

“I have thought of that, and sometime we will have to 
separate; but in this fight we’ve pooled interests.” 

“To share graves, Mr. Dornham!” shot back the boss in 
deep gutturals. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m just back from a little pleasure visit to the Capitol, 
and my guess is that there’s only one man that can cheat the 
undertaker — and that man is you.” 

“What can I do that I am not doing?” asked the banker 
resentfully. 

“Doublecross John Barleycorn, and do it quick!” 

“But—” 

“Wait; you’ve asked me, and I’ll tell you. You’re not a 
licker man; you ain’t known in this fight — not yet. You’re a 
business man and a gentleman — your bank made you that. But 
we made you a philanthropist — a god that people look up to 
and hold their laps open for you to drop goodies in, and listen 
to what you say. We introduced you as a man who has forgot 
self, and the church people are pointin’ to you as an example, 
in what they call ‘human welfare.’ This is the first big chance 
you’ve had.” 

“Ain’t I doing all—” 

“Go to Washington,” continued Samuels heedless of the in- 
terruption, “go to Washington tonight — go today; let the pa- 
pers tell about you, what you’ve done, about the hospital and 
all that. Get Rompers, leader of organized labor. Tell ’im 
your scheme for temperance — your interest in labor, and with 
him go to the President. Give hard licker hell, and, in the in- 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


139 


terests of temperance, get Wilson to recommend to Congress 
that it kill the stills and save the breweries.” 

His dull, grey eyes were now sparkling, and when he had 
reached what he believed was a convincing period, he stopped 
suddenly. 

“But, Samuels, at present our treasury — ” 

“None of that with that man, Mr. Dornham,” he warned. 
“It’s the sob stuff you want to hand Wilson; increased human 
efficiency, human happiness, the real road to temperance and 
health and all that.” 

Perhaps the President of the United States, one of the most 
keenly penetrating statesmen known to history, would be un- 
willing to believe or acknowledge that his message to Congress 
through a personal letter to a senator recommending that beer 
be elided from the prohibition amendment to the food bill was 
born in the minds of German brewers and was first voiced by 
one of the most corrupt political bosses on the American con- 
tinent. But a week later, as evidence of recognition of his 
political sagacity, Samuels received the following telegram from 
Washington : 

“Make your preparations to occupy a seat in the next Con- 
gress. (Signed) P. D.” 


140 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XXIII 

THE BLOOD UPON THE STONES 
"'The general of a large army may be defeated, but 
you cannot defeat the determined mind of a peasant'" 

A S THE hunted prey hears the encircling bay of the 
hounds, David Courtney was feeling the powerful 
grip of Philip Dornham daily tightening upon him. 
Almost in a day he had seen depart a clientele which it had re- 
quired years to build, and, where a week before he had been 
consulted in the chief things of a great city, he was now passed 
upon the streets with bare recognition by those who had sought 
and valued his counsel. 

But with the exception of Helen’s estrangement, perhaps 
nothing had cut so deeply as The Dispatch's unfair account of 
his part in resenting the assault upon the sandwich boy. Most 
men will endure secret persecution without an outward evi- 
dence of pain, but few men can accept unjust public aspersion 
calmly. As he read the account recalling the contemptuous 
laugh of Philip Dornham it burned into his brain like living 
coals. 

Although stunned by the impact of a power which he had 
not conceived possible in this democratic government, he had 
not been submissively moping. Systematically, he had gathered 
piece by piece, little by little, confirming information about the 
duplicities and intrigues of Philip Dornham, which made his 
character stand out as a human reptile posing as a servant of 
human needs. He was horrified. He had tried to believe Mr. 
Dornham honest, but misguided by his great love of gold. The 
impulse to drag him before Helen and denounce him to her 
face, to remove her, if necessary forcibly, from his presence, 
was well-nigh overpowering, but when he tried to imagine 
what it would have meant to him to have discovered one im- 
pure motive in his own father he recoiled from the thought. 
Helen should not know! At least he would shield her from 
that humiliation. He was, therefore, rejoicing in a devotion. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


141 


which, though hopeless of fruition, would be both sacrificing 
and enduring, and congratulating himself upon finding one rift 
in the clouds, when Ben Walton, editor of The Intelligencer, 
entered his office. 

While of genial disposition, Walton was grim, determined 
and unyielding in matters of principle. His early professional 
training had been under the editorial influence of The Com- 
monwealth, a daily born in a southern state during the waning 
years of the nineteenth century, in opposition to political con- 
ditions of that period, still memorable as an era of incubation 
of a peculiar type of viciousness and demagoguery. 

Perhaps his long and tenacious opposition to prohibition 
upon the ground of “personal privilege” was due to the early 
influence of that editor. It was a dogma he had abandoned be- 
cause of its error. But there was a deeper and more funda- 
mental influence of principle which he retained — that principle 
which demands righteous government and upright leaders, the 
defense of which had marked his friend and editorial father for 
the assassin’s bullet. 

More than once the portrait of that martyr to principle 
which hung upon his editorial walls had been an inspiration to 
Ben Walton. Paradoxical as it may seem, never had the mem- 
ory of this friend and his influence been more comforting 
than during the recent days of persecution for his assault upon 
a creed which together they had once defended. But tenets of 
faith are changeable; truth lives forever. And when Ben Wal- 
ton discovered truth he defended it. 

Upon the inaugural day of the Dornham boycott, when the 
first half dozen advertisements were cancelled, Walton was 
puzzled; but investigation quickly revealed the source. The 
advertising department was instructed to maintain the spaces 
in blank as the advertisements were ordered discontinued. At 
the end of the first week half the paper appeared in white 
blotches of varying sizes and shapes, each being a question mark 
to the thousands of readers. Upon the editorial page, while 
there was no abatement of the new policy of The Intelligencer, 


142 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


no reference was made to the oppression, which grew in evi- 
dence daily in its pages. He was biding the time when he 
would make one crushing exposure of Philip Dornham and his 
methods. 

“Courtney,” said he, “I have an editorial here upon which 
I want your legal opinion before I publish it.” 

As the lawyer read the article his face grew tense. When 
it was finished, he exclaimed excitedly. 

“Walton, I would give a great deal if you could publish 
this just as it is.” 

“I know my facts,” replied the editor. “Am I exceeding 
editorial decorum or legal safety?” 

“Your facts, your logic and your legal standing are unas- 
sailable,” Courtney assured him. 

“Then in it goes!” 

But gradually, as Courtney proceeded in the statement of 
his case, Walter displayed less obduracy at being foiled in the 
exposure of corruption unequalled by any discovery of his long 
editorial experience. The article had been prepared with stud- 
ied effort to avoid invective, but with the care of an attorney 
presenting his case before the highest court in all the universe — 
the bar of public opinion. 

“It is an indictment of Alcohol,” said Courtney, “un- 
equalled in the annals of political criminology. It is an ex- 
posure of personal corruption which would forever damn Philip 
Dornham in the eyes of a liberty loving public. Yet I must 
beg you to be patient. Dornham is forging his own chains.” 

Walton was disappointed. He believed the public good 
demanded the exposure and he was human. 

“This thing of shielding men for the protection of women’s 
feelings,” he protested bitterly, “is the bane of newspapers, 
and an injustice to the public.” 

“Only if other methods of bringing them to justice fail,” 
said Courtney. “Give me a chance to do that first. I want 
you to let me have a statement at the end of each week of the 
amount of your personal loss.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


143 


“O, it is not the first smothering of a good story to which 
I have had to bow,” said Walton in unwilling submission. 
“But it means there must be another in lieu of it. So come, 
I have taken assignment for the story of your police experience 
of yesterday; we must find the sandwich boy.” 

To their astonishment, he was again in front of Carl 
Schwartzberg’s saloon. This time he had not encroached upon 
the property of the saloon-keeper, having provided himself a 
dry goods box, and as he mounted his “pulpit,” the factory 
whistles were announcing the arrival of the noon hour. Under 
his arm he carried a package of circulars, and waving them 
before the few who were gathering about him, he cried, 

“De Dirty Truth!” Passing them to his increasing audi- 
ence, “ ‘De Dirty Truth,’ fellers!” he continued. “New 
mornin’ paper! First issue, fresh frum de print shop. Take 
it frum de editor, fellers, it’s jist whut it’s called. And it’s 
nuthin’ a copy!” 

From the outskirts of the growing crowd, Courtney and 
the editor listened to the boy crying his leaflet. Through the 
bandage about his head a red stain marked the wound he had 
received at the hands of Schwartzberg. His face was pale, 
and his unwashed hands trembled as occasionally he pressed 
them to his throbbing temples. 

Somehow the scene moved Courtney as all his experience 
with alcohol had not moved him. Perhaps the incipiency of 
his emotion was sympathy for this child of poverty. But as 
truth gradually dawned upon him that the scarlet stain on thd 
crude bandage about the pale face was the blood of American 
childhood; that this was the sacrifice daily being demanded by 
the insatiate maw of Alcohol, emotion changed to conviction — 
conviction so powerful as to cause him to exclaim within his 
soul, 

“Courtney, you’re a slacker!” 

Call it mental excitement, call it emotion, call it conver- 
sion; name it what men may, it was the great milestone in 
Courtney’s life, for in that moment he caught the spiritual 


144 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


vision of another blood-stained brow, even the thorn-crowned 
brow of Him who has the right to command. “Let all chil- 
dren come unto me, and hinder them not.” And as he beheld 
in this one pitiful example all the arrogance of Alcohol in its 
defiance of divine and human right, his reverent soul cried out 
in protest, 

“By the eternal God and His power, this thing shall not 
be!” 

Pushing his way to the sandwich boy, he was reaching for 
a copy of “The Dirty Truth” when the half spoken sentence 
suddenly stopped. 

“Say, Mister! ain’t you de feller what slabbed de bloke 
yist’dy?” he asked. 

“I’m glad to see you able to be on the firing line. General,” 
replied Courtney. “If you’re taking recruits, I want to join 
you.” 

“Say, fellers,” exclaimed the boy, “dat’s me friend. He’s de 
feller what put ole corkscrew to sleep yist’dy when he biffed 
me. Give ’m de glad note jist to wake ole corky up.” And 
a mighty shout went up: 

“Rah for the big fist!” 

“Dat’s a good’n fellers!” said he gratefully. “Now, de 
first edition’s gone. See ye again tomorrow wid another’n if 
I kin raise de mon and dis head’ll let me.” And slipping down 
from his “pulpit,” he dragged it toward an alley for future use. 

But the Sandwich boy, christened William by his mother; 
but dubbed “Batty” by the thousands to whom his eccentric 
“campaigning” had become a passing jest, was not to see his 
friends the following day. Before going home for the night, 
Mr. Courtney returned to the hospital to which he had carried 
him immediately following the distribution of “The Dirty 
Truth.” He had been given a bath, and for the first time in 
his life was between clean white sheets in a comfortable bed. 
As Mr. Courtney entered, he turned his head toward the door 
and moaned, then his face brightened. 

“Well, General, how’s the head?” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


145 


“Reckon hit was dreamin’, sir,” replied the boy weakly. 
^ Thought somebody’s had put me paper in a mill and groun’ 
it up fine; and I thought every little piece was makin’ a new 
paper and jist everybody was areadin’ it — ’course it was a 
dream.” 

“A rather strange one,” said Mr. Courtney, taking from 
his pocket a copy of The Intelligencer and handing it to him. 
“Just a look now,” he cautioned, “but no reading.” 

For the day, even war news took second position, the front 
page being devoted to a true account of the assault upon Batty 
Spillman and the part played by David Courtney in that 
affair. Blocked in the center of the account was a reproduction 
of “The Dirty Truth,” and for what the “editor” lacked in 
diction the original printer had tried to conceal in neatness of 
form. 

THE DIRTY TRUTH 

Vol. I. Batty Spillman, Editor No. 1. 

Fellers, dis is de dirty truth: I was horned wid licker 
astraddle er me neck ; hit’s kep me f rum scule, hit’s kep me hun- 
gry, and hit’s kep me in dirty rags. And whut licker’s done fer 
me hit’s done fer your kids. 

My pa’s a good feller, but licker makes him cuss me when 
he orter speak kind, and hit makes him starve me when he 
orter feed me. You’re good fellers, but licker’s yer boss. 
You’ve hired yerself out to licker and you dassent vote fer 
me and yer kids and you dassent take yer mesume home to ’em 
Sat’dy nights — you takes it ter yer boss. And we — your own 
kids — starve and freeze. 

Now when I goes to tell you fellers ’bout it yist’dy — tell 
you dat yer buyin’ sparklers for ole Corkscrew’s wife and 
easy-go-buggies for his kids to ride in, while yer own wife walks 
to de fact’ry whur she works, and yer own kids stays home 
frum scule, ’cause dey’s got no shoes to wear through de snow, 
and ole starve stares ’em in de face mornin’, noon and nite — 
when I goes to tell de dirty truth, what does licker do? Licker 


146 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


hits me on de head wid a bottle er beer to hush me mouf; 
licker spills de blood of yer hungry kids ’cause dey cry fer 
bread ! 

And let me tell yer somethin’, fellers; licker spilt my 
blood on dese here cobble-stones. Dey’s my stones now — 
bought wid me own red blood — and dey’s de stones of ever kid 
in dis here big town. I’m agoin’ ter build my pulpit on dese 
stones and as long as licker starves a kid I’m goin’ ter tell de 
dirty truth ’bout licker. 

“And some day, fellers, you’ll give de kids a square deal.” 

“Mister — Mr. Courtney,” said Batty, slowly reaching the 
paper toward his friend, then drawing it back, “kin I — might 
I keep dis’n — jist erwhile?” 

“All the time. Batty; that’s the editor’s copy,” he laughed. 

“How many folks yer reckon’ll read it?” 

“O, probably hundreds of thousands,” he was assured. 

“Dat wouldn’t a-happened if hit hadn’t abeen fer dis; would 
it?” he asked, touching his head. 

“Probably not.” 

“Den — den,” said he in choking voice and slipping the 
paper under his pillow, “I’m glad — I’m glad I’m hurt. Mebby 
it’ll hep de fellers ter see straight and give de kids a chance.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


147 


CHAPTER XXIV 

TIGHTENING COILS 
'"We fail! 

But screw your courage to the sticking place, 

And wedl not fail"* 

S EYMOUR ROEBSTOCK was thoroughly outraged 
when he emerged from his interview with Philip Dorn- 
ham. For more than a quarter of a century his banking 
business had been confined exclusively to the Dornham bank. 
In breaking the old relation, however humiliating the circum- 
stances which necessitated it, there was some satisfaction that 
beginning the new he would be able to accede to the requests 
of friends whom he had long valued, but with whom circum- 
stances had prevented him sharing his business. As he entered 
the office of the president of the National Exchange Bank, it 
was with the feeling of being able to bestow a favor. 

It was late in the afternoon when Mr. Roebstock walked 
wearily into the office of his attorney. Dark rings circled his 
tired, bloodshot eyes, and his face was drawn and haggard 
as if from weeks of pain. 

“I am ruined, Mr. Courtney!” he groaned, sinking into a 
chair. “Utterly ruined!” 

“Why, what has happened, Mr. Roebstock?” he asked, 
shocked at his appearance. 

After listening to the recital of the scene with Philip Dorn- 
ham and the subsequent failures to secure the financial accom- 
modation he so greatly needed, the attorney asked, 

“And you think you have exhausted every source of help?” 
Drawing from his pocket a handful of telegrams he handed 
them to Courtney. 

“In addition to all the banks in the city capable of financing 
a loan of the size I require, there are refusals from every 
banker of my acquaintance.” 

“He seems to have closed your avenues very thoroughly,” 
said Courtney thoughtfully. “You will probably be unable to 


148 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


keep your agreement with the government, but we will fight 
off payment of your present indebtedness until you can take 
care of it.” 

“But,” exclaimed the mine owner with terror in his voice, 
“you do not understand — I’ve never told you. Years ago I 
gave a bill of sale, effective and becoming due at any maturing 
period of indebtedness. That was when I operated one small 
mine and had no credit. Today my mines are worth many 
times the amount I owe but if it is not paid, all is lost !” 

“Let me beg of you, compose yourself, Mr. Roebstock!” 
encouraged the attorney. “You could not have executed arti- 
cles of indebtedness against property which you own today, but 
did not possess at that time.” 

“But,” gasped the old man, “the terms cover profits and 
accrued interests from the original property. I cannot deny 
that all I possess was through the first mine opened. I know 
— I know it was a foolish thing to do, but I was poor. I had 
to have help and as it was a fixed source of credit, I have left it. 
Philip has always been my friend before.” 

“This is a tremendous price, Mr. Roebstock, to pay for 
seemingly so small a thing. Do you think, you would be willing 
to serve the banquet he suggests?” 

“Do you recommend it?” 

“No,” replied Courtney. “My duty is to try to save your 
money — ” 

“Say it — say it, young man!” he exclaimed feelingly. “No, 
I will not. I do not know what my loss will be, probably 
everything, but my honor is not for sale. No, I will not do it.” 

“Mr. Roebstock,” said Courtney, taking his hand, “if any- 
thing can be done, that answer will stimulate me to do it.” 

An hour after his client had gone, Courtney changed his 
position, from which he had not stirred, and consulted his 
watch. Apparently all the pillars of justice were crumbling 
under the iron heel of power and he was helpless to save him- 
self or others. Of all his acquaintances in the financial world 
he could think of but one possible source of help. He concluded 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


149 


to make the effort without delay and he addressed a telegram 
to Colonel John Barbee, New York city, making a business en- 
gagement. 

As he was finishing his shave, preparatory for his journey, 
Sancho industriously and carefully packed his suitcase. 

“Marse Dave,” said Sancho, “I seed ole preacher Isaac 
Pindergrass dis mawnin’.” 

“You did, Sancho! Why, what’s Isaac doing up here?” 

“He done kum wid all de res’ uv ’em. Marse Dave, whut 
yo’ reckons all dem Mississippi en Yallerbama niggers cornin’ 
up hea fur no how, ’dout dey white folks?” 

“Why, Sancho, are many of them coming?” 

“Many uv’m, suh! I seed dat yaller nigger, Sam Meeks, 
what play de base fiddle down at St. Lucie, en him en ole 
Isaac bof ’low dey ain’t ’nuff niggers lef’ at old Blackswamp 
Chu’ch ter hist er sho’t meter chune.” 

“They are offering them very high wages in the manufac- 
turing plants and mines,” replied Mr. Courtney, “and I sup- 
pose they could not resist the lure. Though, I am sorry old 
Isaac has left there.” 

“Yas’r, Marse Dave, so is I ; dat a good ole nigger, en 
he gwin miss he wite folks. Whut pester me, Marse Dave, 
am whut dese niggers gwin do when de cole en de snow come? 
Niggers ain’t gwin keep no money, en dey des nachally gwin 
die like sheep wid de rot.” 

“Why, Sancho, you and Cindy seem to stand it pretty well.” 

“Yas’r, but us fotch us white folks wid us. Dese white 
buckry up hea ain’t gwin pester wid no nigger when he git 
sick. ’Sides,” continued Sancho, “how long yo’ speck po’ white 
trash gwin let niggers work longside uv ’em? Dey des de 
same heah es ever whar else.” 

“Why, I have heard of no trouble, Sancho.” 

“No suh, Marse Dave, nuther is I; but yo’ knows, suh, 
dat niggers en licker is bad ’nuf, but when yo’ mixes niggers 
en licker and demn po’ furren white trash, dey sho’ am gwinter 
be a nasty mess one er dese days.” 


150 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Well, Sancho, you use your influence to get your people 
to let drink alone; you will do them a great service.” 

“’Taint no use, Marse Dave; des es long es a nigger’s 
got er bob piece in his jeans en licker’s aroun’ he gwin ter 
have it.” 

“Haven’t you been getting along pretty well without it, 
Sancho?” 

“Ain’t tech er drap since us quit, Marse Dave; but I’se 
talkin’ ’bout common niggers what ain’t nuver been riz like 
gen’mns, suh. Dun’ know whut I’s gwin do when de snow 
come en my rumatis gits — ” 

“There, Sancho, I hear the taxi. Carry the suitcase down 
and tell him I’ll be there immediately.” 

Following the Civil War, Colonel Barbee operated as a 
cotton factor in the city of New Orleans. He was the largest 
exporter of cotton in the South, and for many years the finan- 
cial agent of David Courtney’s father. During this business 
relation there had sprung up a strong and lasting friendship 
between the families. Later Colonel Barbee moved to New 
York and organized a comparatively small and conservative 
uptown banking company. Although he had established his 
success, he had arrived at his divinely allotted years without the 
infection of that fevered finance commonly believed character- 
istic of the world’s greatest money mart. 

Courtney laid the business of his client before the banker 
with full details, but without reference to his own experience. 

“I don’t know what your personal views of the liquor busi- 
ness are David,” said the Colonel, reflectively; “your father and 
I used to believe very firmly in the doctrine of ‘personal privi- 
lege.’ The saloon-keeper has adopted the slogan with such 
enthusiasm that I am not so sure but that it has come to 
mean his privilege rather than mine. Perhaps you missed your 
mint julep last night and a bracer this morning. I no longer 
apologize for not serving what my years have taught me to be 
harmful both to myself and to my fellows.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


151 


“I noticed the omission, sir,” laughed David, “Perhaps I 
should have told you that I am now a teetotaler, and like Mr. 
Roebstock, I am paying the price of my ‘personal privilege.’ ” 

“You too under the ban of its displeasure?” he asked. Ah, 
David, I have watched it in all its cruel power, but have never 
had the courage openly to displease it. I fear you will have 
your pains for your hire.” 

“All revolutions against wrong have had their cost,” said 
David. “I am not better than my fathers.” 

“Its power is probably greater than you imagine. There 
is not a bank of consequence in this city which has not been 
notified to keep hands off in this case which you represent. It 
would be utterly impossible for me to negotiate your loan in 
this city. I would not care to attempt it in my own bank.” 

Courtney looked at the banker in astonishment. Was it 
possible that the business world was so encompassed by the en- 
circling tentacles of the great monster Alcohol? Pie shuddered 
at the thought of it. 

Depressed by his failure, he left the bank. When he 
reached the pavement, he stopped and stood watching the hu- 
man kaleidoscope of pleasure and pain, success and failure, hope 
and despair, w’hich, like a weaver’s shuttle passed by. As he 
stood there lost in contemplative study of the hurrying throng, 
a deep chested cough attracted his attention and looking in 
the direction from whence it came, he noticed a frail woman, 
her cloak tightly drawn about her shoulders. Something fa- 
miliar held his attention, and as she was about to pass, their 
eyes met. 

“Miss Gardner!” he exclaimed. 

“Please don’t!” she begged, hurrying on. 

“I’ll not annoy you,” he assured her. “You are ill!” 

The thin face grew paler except for a hectic spot upon 
each cheek, and again she coughed, holding her handkerchief 
close to her mouth. 

“Please leave me!” she pleaded, her slender form shaking 
from weakness and emotion. 


152 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Won’t you let me be your friend?” he asked sympatheti- 
cally. 

“You listened to my story once,” she replied, “but — ” 

“And now I believe you,” he assured her. “No darker 
crime was ever perpetrated by human government than that 
which brought you to where you are — or were,” he quickly 
corrected, “for I see you are changed; and what He has 
cleansed I do not call unclean.” 

Looking up into his face she smiled. “Come,” said she, slip- 
ping her trembling hand into his arm. “I had thought to die 
alone — except for Him.” After a moment of silence she 
brushed away a tear. “My name, even He cannot cleanse. I 
had hoped never to hear it again, but now I want you to 
know.” 

“How long since this change came to you?” he asked. 

“Since soon after that awful night,” she replied between 
coughs, “when I laid my shame bare to you.” 

“And He heard your story more kindly than I did,” said 
Courtney. “I’m glad.” 

“Yes, He understands,” she replied, tears of joy filling her 
eyes. . And as she seemed to look beyond the circling smoke and 
clouds which hung over the city, she added, “ ‘For His mercy 
endureth forever.’ ” 

He had not noticed her unsteady step, when she stopped 
and leaned heavily against him. 

“Why, you are exhausted,” he exclaimed, “I will call a 
cab.” 

“No,” she protested, pointing to an entrance just ahead, 
“we’re almost there. The memories this meeting with you 
brings have been too much for me. That awful, awful night!” 
she cried. “Did my father? — ” 

“The night you were there,” he replied gently, as he as- 
sisted her up the steps. 

“And my mother?” 

“Still waiting and praying. There’s a light for you in the 
window every night.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


153 

“O, if I only could — ” The sentence was broken by a 
paroxysm of coughing and pressing her heaving bosom, “Mer- 
ciful God,” she prayed, “in thy sweet pity, may it not be long!” 

As he looked upon her emaciated form, and thought of the 
wounded soul within, suddenly there rushed over him the mem- 
ory of a rose covered cottage and the daily greetings of a little 
golden haired, blue eyed baby girl. In the presence of such 
tragedy, his own suffering seemed to fade into insignificance. 

“Great God!” involuntarily he exclaimed. “And this is 
what Alcohol has made of the little child I knew as ‘Dolly 
Darden!’” 

“Oh! Oh!” she cried, as if the name had been a dagger 
piercing her poor heart. Catching her just as she was in the 
act of falling, her limp arm went about his neck and her head 
sank upon his breast. 

Hearing a noise like the cocking of a revolver, he quickly 
turned his head and a camera again registered its impression. 
As he entered the building with his helpless burden, the opera- 
tor with a strangely familiar face insolently laughed and 
walked away. 

Had Courtney observed, the night he left Brewerton, he 
would have seen this man emerging from out the shadow as 
he left his gate, run rapidly to a waiting car and follow him. 
Had he known, he would have recognized him as the individual 
who called for transportation to New York as he placed his 
own ticket in his pocket. Had he been informed he would 
have known that his every move had been trailed from the day 
Philip Dornham announced his purpose to destroy him. As 
it was he only wondered. 

Perhaps it would be unfair to the reader to fail to record 
just here that within an hour after Mr. Courtney had left 
Dorothy Gardner, in response to his message. Dr. Morrison 
had carried the good news to her waiting mother. Somewhere 
between the East and the West, trains passed that night, the 
one carrying Courtney back to the field of his struggles, and 


154 THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 

the other with the mother of Dorothy hastening with forgiving 
love to the erring child who was found. 

Perhaps it would be only fair to Courtney to mention one 
bright spot in the midst of his multiplying trials; that within 
three days after his return to Brewerton, Cecil Baker had de- 
posited to the credit of Dorothy Gardner a sum sufficient for 
her support during a natural lifetime, and that while Cecil 
was confined to his rooms with an injury to his left eye, some 
loosened front teeth and other minor,, but disfiguring bruises, 
which he explained to his physician were the result of an acci- 
dent, Dorothy and her mother were speeding toward the plains 
of Arizona where the consumptive grows strong, and life be- 
comes sweet. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


155 


CHAPTER XXV 

HELL AT COALFIELD 

^^JJnnatural deeds 
Do breed unnatural troubles.'' 

L ate at night of the day Herman Samuels received the 
message from Philip Dornham advising him that he was 
slated for a seat in Congress, he entered a saloon under 
a negro dance hall, and locked arms with Jonas Magully. 

“It’s fair play I’m after, Mr. Magully,” he was saying; 
“man to man, they’re not gettin’ what’s cornin’ to ’em, and they 
won’t till they stand together for their rights.” 

Jonas Magully, the political leader of his race, had been 
the faithful ally of Herman Samuels in many a hotly-con- 
tested battle of the ballots. Owing to the comparatively lim- 
ited number of negroes within the radius of his influence, and 
the fact that the race had never become a factor in labor, he 
was now considering his first contact with organized labor. 
While Jonas’ experience had been varied and interesting, labor 
was not one of the things which had occupied his attention. 
His light mulatto skin had never been tanned by the summer 
suns nor his shapely hands hardened by the woodsman’s axe. 
When he graduated from Dawson University, he carried with 
him an honorably-won professional diploma; but it required 
only a short time for him to discover that leadership of the 
balance of political power in precinct Seven in the city of 
Brewerton was far more profitable and less irksome. 

“Why, you’re acknowledging, pal,” he replied, “that we’re 
no better up here than them damned southern slave-drivers.” 

“I’m tellin’ you,” answered Samuels, “that old Roebstock 
ain’t treatin’ ’em fair, and it’s your duty to your race to see 
that he does.” 

“Say, chuck that damned duty business, pard,” said Jonas, 
emptying his mug of beer and leaning across the table, “and 
say what’s on your chest. The doctor ain’t recommended coal 
dust for my lungs, and if Fm to hang around them shafts and 


156 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


mix with them stinkin’ southern blacks, something’s got to rat- 
tle like new silk paper. You love ’em just like I do; now let’s 
get down to business.” 

“Why, Mr. Magully,” laughed Samuels, “one would think 
you love money as good as the big boss does.” 

“If the big boss wants me to do his work, he pays — you 
understand ?” 

“O, hell! I didn’t say it was for him, — ” protested Sam- 
uels. 

“But I did!” replied Jonas. “I don’t know what the game 
is, but I know it’s his game. Now, what does old dollar 
Dornham want, and how bad does he want it ?” 

Knowing that when Jonas once sensed the trail it was best 
to make terms without argument, Samuels named a sum which 
he saw was attractive, and waited. 

“There is only one thing in the way of putting it through 
as slick as a greased pig at a county fair,” replied Jonas, “the 
blamed fools have brought an old preacher with them. Think- 
ing something might turn up I’ve been up there; took dinner 
with the old parson. The darned old fool’s preaching the old 
shoutin’ stuff about the new Jerusalem and the golden harps, 
and finishin’ by telling ’em to stick to their jobs and pay no 
attention to outsiders.” 

“Why, you’ll just have to oil the old preacher up a little; 
that’s easy!” 

“That is just what I was thinking,” replied Jonas with a 
worried air, “and it‘s going to take a neat sum to fix him.” 

“O, he’ll feel like a millionaire with a hundred!” 

“r wouldn’t insult him with it,” replied the negro loftily. 

“Well, do the best you can, a few dollars one way or the 
other won’t matter if you can get it done quick,” said Samuels, 
rising from the table. 

Early the following morning, Jonas crossed the river and 
wound his way through the cosmoramic streets of East Brew- 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


157 


erton. As he cleared the congested center, he opened the cutout 
and throttle of his powerful car and turned northward through 
the open country. 

Coming from the broad valleys of the Mississippi where it 
was sin to perform labor on the Sabbath under any circum- 
stance except when the great mother of waters threatened the 
protecting dykes, and where Sunday pastimes were confined to 
fishing, rabbit hunting and “craps” on the sly, the Rev. Isaac 
Pendergrass labored earnestly with his conscience before he con- 
sented to have his flock enter the coal mines on the seventh 
day, even for the necessities of a nation at war, and then only 
upon condition that at the noonday and evening shifts the men 
would be allowed one hour for worship. 

The whistles were blowing noon and streams of men were 
coming from the mines, some going to their huts, the majority 
turning toward the church. Jonas Magully, arriving at the 
psychological moment, turned his steaming car into the church- 
yard, and with an advanced throttle and a deafening roar of 
the heavy exhaust, he turned off the spark. The church, half 
filled with women, was immediately emptied to see the new 
arrival. The old preacher, sitting on his front porch, dropped 
the brass bound spectacles from their usual position on the top 
of his white woolly head and peered over their frame. 

“Why, hit’s Brur Magully!” he exclaimed, rising to wel- 
come his distinguished visitor. 

“Yes, Brother Pendergrass, I was so delighted with your 
sermon on my other visit, that I could not resist the temptation 
to return and hear you again,” said Jonas, sufficiently loud for 
the assembled congregation to hear. 

“Well may de Lawd bless yer, honey!” said the old man. 
“En yo’ went en kumed clean up hea ter hea dis old nigger 
preach when yo’ got all dem fine doctor preachers in Brew’ton ! 
Yo’ hear dat, chillens?” he asked, passing through the curious 
crowd as he entered the church. “Well, ef I does say it m’self, 
I gives ye de puore gospel.” 


158 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“That’s what I like, Brother Pendergrass — the pure, un- 
adulterated, old time gospel,” exclaimed Jonas walking close to 
the minister. 

Following the sermon and the subsidence of the shouting, 
after the manner of the race, the individual contributors had 
placed their gifts upon a table in front of the pulpit and a 
generous response of nickels and dimes, and one quarter, lay 
upon the altar of the Lord, in response to the Rev. Pender- 
grass’ exhortation to liberality. The last of the members was 
returning to his seat, when Jonas rose in the Amen corner and 
peeling a new ten dollar bill from a bulky roll in sight of all, 
he walked up before the pulpit and laid it impressively on the 
table. 

“Bruderin an Sisterin,” said the old preacher, peering over 
his glasses at the bill, “dis am Brur Magully, de cheerman er 
de board er stewards er de bigges city in de worl’. Brur 
Magully will now onlighten us wid er few words er wisdom.” 

The first part of Jonas’ talk was an impressive presentation 
of the free and equal rights of salvation to all men, being parts 
of a speech which he had often delivered at political rallies, 
now clothed in such Biblical phrases and references as he had 
picked up. Warming to his subject, he reminded his hearers 
that although they had escaped from the land of Egypt, they 
were still held in the bondage of selfish wealth ; that while they 
toiled for a pittance in the bowels of the earth, the man for 
whom they risked their lives every minute of the day, sat in a 
palace of marble clothed in purple and fine linen, and that if 
they were to be free men indeed, like the children of Israel, 
they must meet this new enemy with a solid front. Dwelling 
upon his heavy cares and great responsibilities, he assured them 
of his undying devotion to their cause; like Moses, he was 
ready to sacrifice his herds and flocks for his people. 

For some minutes the Rev. Pendergrass sat in his high 
backed ministerial chair with his gaze fixed upon the rafters. 
As Jonas proceeded he began to squirm uneasily, finally rising 
to his feet. It was hard for him to dethrone his idol, hard 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


159 


for him to acknowledge before his congregation that he had 
made a mistake; but, above all save his God, Isaac loved his 
people, and he had never been charged with unfaithfulness to 
any trust. Perhaps there were good-intentioned people who 
pitied his ignorance, but Isaac was not ignorant. In all his 
illiteracy, he knew his people as no college professor could 
ever know them, knew them as even some of the great editors 
who tear their hair in their behalf can never fathom their 
frailties, their virtues and their limitations. 

“Scuse — scuse me, Brur Magully,” he interrupted, “I’s 
sorry ter have ter disrup yo’, suh, but I don’t ble’ve what you’s 
sayin’ is good scripter fer my peoples. Dey’s happy en prosper- 
ous, en de doctrin dey needs is love — love, suh — not hate. ’Sides, 
I’s promis ter let de mens git back ter dey work in er hour, en 
ole Isaac allers keeps his promis. 

“Receive de Lawd’s blessin’, chillerns!” 

But all the laborers did not return to their work. The 
seed which Jonas had sown had taken root, and as his big car 
sped noisily around the corner, it was more attractive than the 
coal mines. Jonas had provided ample refreshments for the 
day, and during the afternoon drunken negroes reeled through 
the streets of Coalfield, and an occasional pistol shot was heard 
in the suburbs, evidencing the spirit of personal privilege which 
he had proclaimed. 

On Monday morning, half of the men were out of the mines. 
Jonas had called a meeting for ten o’clock at the church for the 
purpose of organizing the “Order of Brotherhood” and he kept 
open house in preparation for his plans. 

“God morning. Brother Pendergrass,” he greeted the pastor, 
who had walked to his gate wondering at the meaning of the 
crowd following Jonas. “We want to get the use of your 
church for a little while. Brother Pendergrass,” said the leader, 
persuasively. 

“De chu’ch, eh ! Well, whut yo’ wants wid de ch’ch, Brur 
Magully?” asked the pastor, suspiciously. 


160 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Just a little prayer meeting for the brethren, Brother Pen- 
dergrass,” Jonas replied piously. 

“Dey ain’t tole me dey wants no meetin’. Sides, dis ain’t 
no time fer meetin’s. We done fix de time fer meetin’s wid 
de mine boss en ole Isaac ain’t gwin bus his word, en he ain’t 
gwin ’low de mens ter do it ef he can hep it. Dey ain’t gwin 
be no meetin’ in dis chu’ch.. Now yo’ betteh go back whur yo’ 
come frum, en quit pesterin’ er my people. Dat’s what I got 
ter say!” And Isaac walked to the church steps and took his 
seat. 

“What shall we do, gentlemen?” Jonas appealed to the 
crowd. 

“Let ’im keep he damned ole chu’ch,” replied “Snowball” 
Chisholm, a new arrival at the mines. “Whut’s de trouble wid 
meetin’ right hea? I dominates Brur Magully fer de cheer.” 
And Jonas assumed the role of chairman of the meeting. 

Once the old pastor rose to plead with his people but their 
inflamed minds were in no condition to listen; his voice was 
drowned by howls, hisses and curses. Following Magully ’s im- 
passioned speech, resolutions which he had prepared were 
quickly passed demanding one hundred per cent wage increase 
and a seven hour day with a strike to be effective if the de- 
mands were not granted by seven o’clock the following morn- 
ing. 

Jonas immediately dispatched a telegram to Samuels, read- 
ing, “Ship barrel ‘X’ first express. Something doing seven to- 
morrow morning.” During the afternoon he directed men to 
every shaft in operation giving the action of the “Order of 
Brotherhood” and assuring them of the success of their de- 
mands, if they would only stick by the “Brotherhood,” while he 
busied himself organizing properly armed pickets for the en- 
forcement of their demands. 

When word was received at Mr. Roebstock’s office in 
Brewerton of the impending strike, Mr. Roebstock was out of 
the city and Courtney was asked to hold himself in readiness 
for a conference with the mine owner upon his expected ar- 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


161 


rival during the night. Later he was informed that Mr. Roeb- 
stock would go direct to the mines and that he wished him to 
meet him at Coalfield on the early morning train. 

At break of day, like a general directing his army, Jonas 
dispatched pickets to the several mines, the last being com- 
manded by “Snowball” Chisholm. As he reeled forth at the 
head of his squad, Jonas admired him as the Prussian Em- 
peror looked with pride upon the demons he decorated with 
the iron cross after the invasion of Belgium. His thick, bru- 
tal lips were evidence of a willing animal courage comparable 
only to German savagery. 

Crossing the business section of the small mining city, as 
his squad swung around a corner, a little girl — a white child — 
hurrying home from an errand to her father’s store, collided 
with the commander. Enraged at the indignity, he grasped the 
child by the hair, lifting her with one powerful arm and iiolding 
her suspended while his white clenched teeth glistened in their 
black setting. Seeing the approach of her father in response to 
the screams of the child, he hurled her little body into the air, 
laughing as she fell senseless upon the pavement. In reply to 
the protest of the father he brained him with a pick handle 
which he carried in his hand. 

When two policemen were added to the death list, and the 
story of Chisholm’s crime had spread, the hitherto quiet com- 
munity of Coalfield divided into opposing forces of blacks and 
whites. A race riot reigned in the law abiding state of Illinois 
the like of which was unknown in the history of the races. 
Vengeance like a raging fire swept onward in its ruthless course 
distinguishing not between guilty and innocent, leaving the 
streets strewn with dead and dying, while white men, them- 
selves now enraged with drink, added murder to arson as de- 
fenseless and guiltless women fled from their burning homes. 

In the midst of the carnage a voice was heard. 

“The preacher! Get the old preacher!” 

“Yes,” answered another, “I saw him in their meeting yes- 
terday morning in front of the church !” 


162 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


Unable to find Isaac in his home, the mob set fire to it, 
while others applied the torch to the church. As the flames 
leaped up the walls a voice was heard inside. 

“There’s the old devil!” someone cried. And forcing the 
door they found Isaac kneeling, his venerable head upturned 
by his pulpit, and as the tears streamed down his black cheeks 
he prayed : 

“Good Lawd, sweet Lawd, fergib my peoples! Sweet Je- 
sus, ’twa’n’t dey fault — ’twas dad bad nigger en his licker. 
Sweet Lawd, Jesus, don’ let ’em kill ’em — let ’em kill ole 
Isaac. Hit was my fault too, Lawd, Jesus — dat ten — hit 
stracted me en I let dat bad nigger talk — ” 

“You needn’t pray to the Lord,” said the leader, dragging 
him from behind the pulpit. It’s too late for the Lord to help 
you.” 

“He’s the king bee of the swarm!” cried one. 

“What will we do with him?” 

“Hang him before their eyes!” 

“Burn him!” shouted another as they rushed out of the 
rapidly burning church. 

Arriving at the court house some went for a rope, while 
others gathered fagots. Suddenly Isaac darted from his captors 
and crouched at the feet of a man who came walking rapidly 
down the street. 

“Don’ let ’em kill ole Isaac, Marse Dave,” he pleaded, 
grasping his former friend about the knees. “Yo’ knows Isaac 
ain’t done nuthin’ to be kilt fur!” 

“Get up, Isaac!” said Mr. Courtney stepping in front of 
the old negro. Then turning to the crowd, “Men!” said he, 
and his strong voice rang out with a note of authority. “I 
have known this old negro since I can remember. He has been 
a leader of his people in all that was good and lawful, but 
never in crime. I have just arrived and I do not know with 
what he is charged, but I say to you, he is guilty of no crime 
either against white or black !” 

A hoarse laugh met his plea. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


163 


“Friend,” said the leader, “this is our job; I don’t know 
who you are, and I don’t care a damn, but take my advice, and 
if you’ve got business, tend to it!” 

Backing toward the court house and keeping Isaac behind 
him, he pleaded: 

“Men, you are about to do yourselves a supreme injustice; 
I tell you this negro is not a party to the crime you seek to 
revenge whatever it is. I will stand sponsor for the old man 
until he can be investigated and if he is guilty then punish him 
legally. In the meantime some other influence is responsible 
for this outbreak; search for the responsible party.” 

“We’ve got the old devil we want,” replied the leader. 
“Now you skin out of this.” 

When Courtney entered the town, he had learned of a 
special train hurrying troops and physicians to the scene. It was 
momentarily expected, and he knew that the only hope was a 
play for time. 

“Let me save you from a crime which you will regret, men,” 
he pleaded. “For fifty years this old negro has been pastor of a 
church where I grew up. He has always been a friend to 
whites and a worthy citizen.” As he talked he had retreated 
steadily until Isaac, at his back, stood against the brick wall. 

“Who are you? ” the mob demanded. 

“Courtney is my name; attorney for the Roebstock mines 
and no friend of the interests which inspired the crimes you 
wish to punish. And further,” said he, anxiously glancing 
down the street, hoping to keep them back until help arrived, 
“I am a southern man, where unfortunately we have too many 
occurrences of this sort. But wherever it occurs it is crime — it 
is murder to take life unsanctioned by law.” 

At the moment the beat of a drum in double quick time 
was heard and as the angry mob saw itself about to be cheated 
of its purpose, the leader commanded him to step aside. 

“I’ll give you one minute to step from in front of that 
damned nigger,” said he, leveling a revolver at his breast. 


164 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


Instantly Courtney caught the drunken leader’s eye, hold- 
ing it with a look that pierced his very soul. 

“You coward!” said he. “You murderous coward! Put 
down that gun!” The hand began to tremble nervously. 
Knowing the danger of a quivering finger on a trigger, his last 
command came like words shot from a catapult, “Drop it!” 

As the weapon rattled upon the pavement a company of 
troops swung into the street. 


THE RIGHTS 01 A MAN 


165 


CHAPTER XXVI 

DAVID^S PLEDGE TO BATTY 
Death has made 

His darkness beautiful with thee/' 

O RDER restored, on the special train returning to 
Brewerton with physicians, nurses and others who 
had volunteered their services, Courtney and Dr. 
Morrison shared a seat. Thirty-six hours of ceaseless labor 
caring for the wounded and witnessing death and destruction, 
had left the doctor exhausted and depressed. 

“When will the people banish this instrument of the devil — 
Alcohol?” he sighed. 

“The house of John Barleycorn & Company,” replied 
Courtney, “is even now entering involuntary bankruptcy. This 
tragedy will make Illinois dry as surely as its twin occurrence 
at Atlanta made Georgia dry.” 

“And to think,” said the doctor with deep humiliation, 
“that after this TIolier than thou’ attitude, we of the North 
have assumed toward you of the South, that this mob violence 
toward the negro, unprecedented in viciousness, should be laid 
at the door of Illinois — of the North.” 

“Do not say that. Bob,” protested Courtney. “It would be 
as unjust to charge this crime against the North as it has been 
unfair for some of the screaming editors of that section to 
charge crimes of like nature against the South, because they 
occurred below the Mason and Dixon line. It only goes to 
prove that human depravity under like stress and circumstances, 
is always and everywhere the same. Texas is no different from 
South Carolina, and Illinois and Massachusetts are identical 
with them both. The only reason these race crimes have not 
occurred more frequently in the North is because there has 
been less provocation by reason of a less congested negro popu- 
lation and the ensuing crimes which inspire them.” 


166 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Then you think wherever the races are congregated in 
numbers they will be subject to these outbursts of crime and 
mob violence?” asked the doctor. 

“No, I wouldn’t say that, because I hope and believe that 
even after all these years of state and national iniquity, we 
are about to awaken to an intelligent sense of justice to the 
negro race as well as to our own. I know the negro, and as a 
race, he is not vicious. On the contrary, he is amenable to dis- 
cipline, and kindly of disposition. But, being of inferior intel- 
lect, and with great emotions or sense feelings, like the Indian 
and the Oriental, alcohol is peculiarly and dangerously poison 
to his brain. The sooner we recognize the negro, as an in- 
ferior race and therefore a responsible charge, the sooner will 
we discharge that responsibility in intelligent justice. Wher- 
ever they are congregated in numbers and vicious white men are 
permitted to use them as political or industrial whips, with al- 
cohol the active inspiration, there will be recurrence of these 
disgraceful outbreaks. But, as I said, I hope a better day is in 
sight.” 

“You speak of being inspired by white men,” said the doc- 
tor; “the inception of the crime seems to have been confined 
to their own race.” 

“I don’t know,” replied Courtney, as the train entered the 
railway station of Brewerton, “but I propose to find out.” 

At the station he was met by Sancho with the information 
that an urgent call had come from the hospital, and although 
late in the night, he hurried to the bedside of the injured 
sandwich boy, whose injury after a week of fluctuating tem- 
perature, the physicians had pronounced concussion of the brain. 
Then ensued a period of stupor which held out uncertain 
hope, and Courtney had given instruction to call him at the 
first sign of consciousness. Only once during those anxious 
weeks in which, upon his daily visits he found himself becom- 
ing strangely attached to the little sufferer, had he seen the 
father of the lad — a blear-eyed, repulsive creature smelling of 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


167 


beer. As he stood watching the short, quick breathing of his 
child, in maudlin tears, he declared, 

“If he’d abeen tendin’ to his business, he’d abeen well and 
happy.” 

“Happy!” thought Mr. Courtney. “Could ever childhood 
be happy or even safe with Alcohol ‘straddle of its neck?’ ” as 
Batty had expressed it. 

“We did not want to call you,” explained the nurse out- 
side, “but he begged so pitifully for you.” And as he entered, 
the boy greeted him with a smile. 

“I tole ’em you wouldn’t be mad, sir,” said he, drawing 
Courtney’s hand to his lips and kissing it fervently. 

“I should have been angry if they had not called me. 
Batty,” he assured him. “But you must not talk. You have 
had a long pull of it, and the doctors have given positive orders 
to keep you quiet; so I will talk while you listen.” 

“But — ” For a moment he closed his eyes, wearily, and was 
silent. 

“That’s all right,” Mr. Courtney consoled; “later you may 
talk and I will listen.” 

“But — ” again he said, “I ain’t got time ter wait. I’m — 
I’m done fer — licker’s got me. Ole Corkscrew wins!” 

“No, he don’t!” he assured him. “I am going to help you 
put Schwartzberg and all the rest of them out of business!” 
Instantly the pained face relaxed into a smile. 

“Will yer — will yer do that?” he exclaimed, half raising 
himself and falling weakly back upon his pillow. 

For a time he lay silently quiet under the soothing hand of 
his friend and the command of his nurse. 

“Den it’s all right,” he whispered. 

“Now if you don’t keep quiet,” warned the nurse, “I will 
have to send Mr. Courtney away.” 

“Don’t — please don’t!” he begged, a frightened look in 
his eyes as his hand tightened upon Mr. Courtney’s. “I wants 
’im here when — when I goes.” 


168 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“All right,” soothed the nurse, “you be good, and don’t say 
a word now, and Mr. Courtney shall stay, and he’ll come and 
take you riding with him in his car when you’re able.” At 
this a smile played upon his lips and looking up at Mr. Court- 
ney he asked, 

“Won’t yer take some er de other kids, sir? En tell ’em — 
tell ’em I ast yer.” 

“Yes, you and I will take them together,” he replied smil- 
ing, but anxiously glancing at the nurse. 

“En you’ll put licker out er biz, en give de kids back they 
pas?” he asked. 

“Yes,” he earnestly replied, “by the help of God, I’ll do my 
best.” 

“Den ’ts all right,” he smiled; “de kids’ll know — some- 
time, it was — fer dem.” And he wearily closed his eyes. 

“Now,” Mr. Courtney urged, “be perfectly quiet and I 
will tell you a story.” And while he told the deathless story of 
“Garcia” the little fingers relaxed and tightened upon his 
hand. 

“Does yer know,” he panted in short quick breaths, “does 
yer know er story ’bout a boy called — called Jesus?” 

“What story about Jesus would you like to hear?” he 
asked. 

“My ma, she used ter tell — fore she — she died, ’bout ’im 
alikin’ de kids.” 

“Yes, Jesus loved children and took them in his arms and 
blessed them.” 

“Dat’s it — dat’s it!” he exclaimed, his face brightening. 

“And Jesus said, ‘Let the children come to me,’ ” continued 
Mr. Courtney. 

“Come ter me — come ter me,” he repeated. “Dat’s what 
ma said. En yo’re goin’ ter hep ’em!” he whispered joyfully. 

“The very best I can.” 

“En ma said — she said, I must pray ter ’im — ter Jesus.” 

The voice had grown weak and husky and as Mr. Courtney 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


169 


glanced at the house physician whom the nurse had summoned, 
he shook his head. It would do no harm for him to talk now. 

“Did your mother teach you a prayer?’ he asked gently 
stroking the little hand, growing cold in his palm. 

“But pa — my pa, he beats me!” a frightened look coming 
on his face, as he clutched the hand of Mr. Courtney tighter. 

“No one shall hurt you, Batty,” said he, soothingly. “Now 
say your prayers if you wish.” 

He did not reply. His breathing had become easier and 
for a time he seemed to sleep. Seeing his lips move Mr. 
Courtney held his ear close to them. 

“Now I lay me — down ter sleep — ” he was faintly whis- 
pering. “I prays de Lord — my soul — my soul — ter — ” 

Upon the white face, a moment before drawn with pain, a 
smile had come as if he peacefully dreamed. The unspoken 
prayer was heard. Still holding the pulseless hand, Courtney 
bowed his head: 

“Gracious God!” he prayed, in faltering accents, “accept 
the humble gratitude of a sinful man for witnessing Thy love. 
For though this child has trod the friendless path of want, and 
greed has hidden from him in life the way to Thee, Thou hast in 
death bidden him come. And there is none to hinder.” 


170 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XXVII 

DEBAUCHING THE LITERATI 

'"Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course. 

And we are grac’d with wreaths of victory.” 

F ollowing hard upon prohibition for the National 
Capitol, passage by the Senate of the prohibition federal 
constitutional amendment was the first great overpower- 
ing discouragement with which Philip Dornham had ever met. 
Enactment of this bill by this branch of the Congress had not 
come unawares; every inch of ground was stubbornly con- 
tested. But the composition of his mind was such as to make 
unbelievable this legislation which he considered so contrary 
to progressive government and business justice. It therefore 
proved a shock which developed symptoms of high blood pres- 
sure, and for a time threatened serious consequences to the 
banker’s wealth. 

But Philip Dornham was not a man to surrender meekly. 
He had been selected for this leadership because of his dogged 
determination as much as for his financial and political power. 
Upon the few occasions of his petty discouragements he had 
found no inspiration so satisfying as an hour with Samuels. 
While with the banker’s professed theory of reforming the sa- 
loon there was no agreement between the two, Samuels’ prac- 
tical knowledge of the saloon and what it needed for its best 
success did not often fail in its appeal. 

“Samuels, I am seriously concerned about conditions at 
Washington,” said he, as the political boss entered. 

“O, take it here and yonder. Congress ain’t done us so bad 
but what we’ll get over it, Mr. Dornham.” 

“You’re a strange fellow, Samuels; you seem to get com- 
fort from every wind. What have you in this situation?” 

“In a poker game,” said Samuels, lighting his cigar, “al- 
ways watch the other fellow just a little closer than your own 
hand.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


171 


“And then?” asked Mr. Dornham. 

“Let’s get through with that first. Since the day the Food 
Bill was passed President Wilson’s had his finger on the switch; 
any day, any hour he could a’turned the juice on and killed 
beer — the breweries. He hasn’t done it. Why? President 
Wilson’s afraid!” 

“He’d better be!” growled Dornham. 

“O, not that way, Mr. Dornham,” smiled Samuels. “I 
ain’t no Wilson man, you understand, but I ain’t no damned 
fool neither. Anybody that ever looked at that jaw knows 
Woodrow Wilson ain’t afraid of the Kaiser nor the devil; 
but the President of the United States, with war on his hands, 
is afraid of licker — he’s afraid to kill the breweries. That 
little scheme of disquietude we’ve been workin’s a peach.” 

“Sounds good so far,” said Mr. Dornham, “let’s have the 
balance. Remember, I don’t promise to adopt it; I have al- 
ready lost three millions in deposits by taking your advice to 
have the distillers put out of business.” 

“Did you expect to put the knife into a fellow’s back and 
keep his bank account?” asked Samuels with a note of disgust. 
“ ’Course they’re not goin’ to draw up resolutions of thanks; 
but what’s the thanks of a cripple — or his ill will, for that 
matter?” 

“You must acknowledge it was a pretty raw deal.” 

“Raw deal, hell! Wasn’t hard licker already sentenced? 
It meant us goin’ to see the execution, or wearin’ the black cap 
with it. Your little speech to the President give us our chance ; 
if we die it’s our fault.” 

“Well, state your plan.” 

“It’s just this, Mr. Dornham. If you’re goin’ to earn 
that million dollar pile of stone adorned by your name, you’re 
goin’ to have to come out of retirement. You’re goin’ to have 
to fill the papers and magazines with interviews, articles and 
advertisements givin’ licker hell, and standin’ for the biggest 
temperance movement ever put across. It’s beer’s chance! 
We’ve got three months before Congress meets and the House 


172 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


can take action and now’s the time to spend your money on 
good writers. Bombard every Congressman from now till No- 
vember fourth with beer dope with your name strung to it, 
and with what preachers and doctors you can get, and if you 
don’t have ’em eatin’ out of your hand Abraham ain’t my 
grand-daddy.” 

Mr. Dornham smiled. 

“Fletcher insists upon my part of the campaigning being con- 
ducted with the utmost dignity. Do you think — ?” 

“Dignity, hell!” exclaimed Samuels. “If you had your 
money on a pony and he was neck and neck at the last quar- 
ter, wouldn’t you put ginger into him if you could? That’s 
the picture! And it’s now or never, while we’re gettin’ help. 
Have you seen The World?''' 

''The W orld is one of our strongest great dailies and will be 
of immense help.” 

“It’s givin’ the South hell!” said Samuels gleefully. “Of 
course, we know as well as The W orld that it wasn’t the South 
or the Democrats that passed the bill in the Senate, any more’n 
the Republicans. But that makes no difference so long as these 
papers will play both ends against the other. And you may 
depend upon The World. It and other Eastern and Northern 
papers will play up the sectional question and show that the 
South is tryin’ to ram its prohibition notions down the throats 
of New York and Pennsylvania, and that’ll rouse their ‘Dutch’ 
up there. In the West we can shine the immigration laws in 
their face, then trot out the old Force bill and show him to the 
South. Get these sections worked up — fightin’ mad — but each 
afraid of what the other will do for ’em ; then shine the radiant 
metal in the eyes of the few stubborn ones, and believe Israel, 
as far as beer’s concerned, we’ll have a good, old-fashioned Con- 
stitutional Amendment funeral with Champ Clark chief pall- 
bearer.” 

Mr. Dornham did not reply with his usual objections; he 
was glowingly enthused with the program which Samuels had 
so convincingly outlined. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


173 


There was no vacation during the sweltering summer 
months for Mr. Dornham; his pleasure was work. For rest, 
he visited Fletcher Babson’s office and reviewed the reports as 
they came in from his organized forces. Articles by the “Rev. 
So-andso,” showing Biblical approval of the use of wine, and 
medical opinion by “Dr. Who’s Who” advocating beer as a 
health and temperance beverage were those that pleased him 
most. The report came that many such articles, together with 
interviews from the “multi-millionaire philanthropist Philip 
Dornham,” were being reprinted in unsuspecting weeklies, with 
gratifying effect. 

In Congress, Senator Scanlan was now daily throwing the 
gaff into Food Administrator Hoover to the reported effect that 
farmers were becoming discouraged under the charge of gov- 
ernment waste and injustice, threatening their loyalty in the 
effort of increased production. Senator Chamberlain by his 
attack of inefficiency in the War Department was said to be 
weakening the morale both of the army and its several depart- 
ments of preparation. With a tongue tipped with the gall of 
bitter denunciation. Senator Duboise was personally leading 
the agitation in Pennsylvania, charging the government with 
infringement upon state’s rights and personal liberties, and 
loading the South and West with abuse, while from the West 
came the encouraging report that the allies of those malcontents, 
the I. W. W., were successfully carrying forward their program 
of disturbance, unrest and destruction. Ex-Governor Coleman 
of South Carolina and Senator Ward wick of Georgia were 
reported as successful dispensers of vitriol, passion and discord. 
And with it all Mr. Dornham was pleased — immensely 
pleased ! 


174 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

HELEN DORNHAM SURRENDERS 

Open foe may prove a curse, 

But a pretended friend is worse/* 

D etermined to nd herself of all thought or care for 
David Courtney, whom she declined to forgive or even 
to excuse, and partly to avoid her father’s insistence 
upon her union with Fletcher Babson, Helen spent the sum- 
mer in a fashionable resort in the East. Throwing herself into 
the swirl of pleasures, at times she congratulated herself upon 
placing the past behind her; but when she was alone the mem- 
ory of Courtney’s face on the day she had last seen him vvould 
intrude itself, and her pillow was sometimes wet with tears. 
When the autumn leaves were being yellowed and frost had 
dyed the maple a crimson red, she returned in time for the 
Chrysanthenium Festival. 

A week before her return, she had received a telegram an- 
nouncing the arrival of Richard Horlick, Junior, and within 
an hour after she had reached the city she was with the happy 
young mother. 

“O, the little darling!” she exclaimed, lifting the soft cov- 
ering from the face of the sleeping babe. “And what does Dick 
think of Junior?” 

“O, I have to shoo him away every morning to get him to 
the bank in time, said Rose, “Why, he’s perfectly looney about 
him. But tell me something about yourself. What has Cupid 
done for you in the White Mountains?” 

“Not even a glancing shot,” laughed Helen, adding seri- 
ously, “scars become calloused and are not easily penetrated. 
Tell me something about — ” 

“Poor old Dave seems to be having hard sledding. Dick 
seldom sees him, and he never talks of himself.” 

“Rose, has he never told Dick why he wouldn’t see me?” 
she asked. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


175 


“He positively declines to say a word, except that it is 
impossible to explain the matter to you. But Helen, he loves 
you.” 

“I can’t believe it. Rose. It makes me angry with myself 
for ever thinking of him. Why, Cecil Baker told me this sum- 
mer about some disgraceful conduct of his as long ago as last 
winter with a woman in the dining room of the railway sta- 
tion.” 

“Cecil Baker!” exclaimed Mrs. Horlick. But whatever 
opinion she intended to express was interrupted by the an- 
nouncement of Mrs. Richards. 

“She says she just must see the baby,” said the servant. 

“O, that woman!” exclaimed Mrs. Horlick. “I can’t bear 
her!” 

“But she’s not a good enemy to have. Rose,” cautioned 
Helen. 

Mrs. Richard’s effusiveness over Richard, Jr., ended with 
the hope that he would be a noble man, and deplored the 
unfaithfulness of modern males. 

“You may be glad, Rose dear, that you have a model hus- 
band and one without a past.” 

“I didn’t know the men were so bad as you seem to believe, 
Mrs. Richards.” 

“But, my dear, one never can tell. Just recently I heard 
something about one of your old beaux, Helen, that I wouldn’t 
have believed if I had not seen the actual proof.” 

“You speak as if mine were numerous, Mrs. Richards,” 
said Helen. “Which one am I so fortunate as to have es- 
caped ?” 

“Fortunate! That’s the word, dear,” said she sympatheti- 
cally. “You will think so when you see this,” drawing a kodak 
from her bag. “And the worst of it, he followed the creature 
all the way to New York.” 

The photograph, though indistinct, was plainly that of 
David Courtney holding in his arms a woman, one of her arms 


176 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


about his neck and her head resting upon his breast. For some 
moments Helen gazed at the picture, and as her face went 
deathly pale, she left the room. 

“Poor child !” sadly whined Mrs. Richards, “I didn’t know 
she cared so much for the fellow. But I could not bear to see 
her deceived !” 

“What kind of a trick is this, Mrs. Richards?” demanded 
Mrs. Horlick indignantly. “And where did you get this?” 

“Why, my dear, what do you mean?” asked Mrs. Richards 
in innocent tones. “But since you question it, an acquaintance 
of this man Courtney happened to be passing along a street in a 
questionable section of New York City and by chance having 
his camera, snapped this picture as he was telling his lady love 
goodbye !” 

“Who was the acquaintance?” she demanded. 

“Well! If I am to be questioned in this manner and my 
motives misconstrued, I think I shall go.” 

“Show Mrs. Richards out!” said Mrs. Horlick to the serv- 
ant responding to her call. “I shall keep this, Mrs. Richards,” 
said she, slipping the photograph into her blouse. 

“But—” 

“Good morning, Mrs. Richards!” 

When Helen returned to the room she had dried her tears. 
Her face was pale and bore the hopelessness of despair. 

“Helen,” said her friend, drawing her down and slipping 
her arm around her, “I don’t know what this means, but I 
cannot believe — ” 

Mrs. Horlick did not finish the sentence. With such evi- 
dence, what could she say? “There must be some horrible mis- 
take,” she continued. “I know Dave loves you.” 

“Please don’t. Rose,” said Helen. “Please do not ever 
mention his name again. Whatever lingering faith I might 
have had is gone; at last I am undeceived.” After a moment’s 
silence, she added, “It will at least help make my sacrifice bear- 
able.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A M A K 


177 


“O, Helen!” cried Mrs. Horlick, “Poor dear child— don’t 
do that!” 

“Life is nothing to me now, Rose.” 

“But you do not love Mr. Babson.” 

“I have made that plain to both him and father.” 

“But you can never be happy, Helen.” 

“I do not expect happiness,” sighed Helen. “I can be 
obedient.” 


178 


THE RIGHTS O F A MAN 


CHAPTER XXIX 

THE LURE OF THE WINE CUP 

^'Govern well thy appetite, lest Sin 
Surprise thee, and her black attendant Death'* 

ALTHOUGH he no longer called at the Dornham 
home, Dr. Morrison created opportunities to keep in 
^ touch with Phil for whom he had a very tender re- 

gard, which the young man reciprocated sincerely. Upon 
his recovery, Phil had returned to his position in the bank with 
an interest in his work surprising to his associates and immeas- 
urably pleasing to his father. 

At the end of the first month’s experience of total ab- 
stinence, Phil had experienced no desire for drink and was just 
a little inclined to twit the doctor upon his warnings. Scarcely 
a week more had passed, when he entered the doctor’s office 
with terror written upon his face. Dr. Morrison did not need 
to ask the cause. Quickly preparing a sedative, he rushed him 
to the Y. M. C. A. gymnasium where he put him through an 
hour’s heavy work, followed by a hot plunge, a cold needle 
shower and a good dinner. 

When he had succeeded in passing this first return of his 
old passion, at which time the gnawing thirst had been well 
nigh irresistible, both Phil and the doctor were encouraged as 
the weeks passed without its recurrence. During this period he 
had absented himself from his club as a safe precaution but was 
now able to enjoy the companionship of his fellows without the 
social glass making its former appeal. 

“We’ve killed it, Doctor!” he exclaimed triumphantly to 
his friend. 

“Don’t trust it!” warned the doctor. “There are destroyed 
brain cells and nerve tissues which will forever prevent you 
from being the normal man you once were. If you can keep 
hold of your will power you’ll be able to combat it successfully. 
But the time will never come when there is not danger in your 
first glass. Avoid it as you would the devil!” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


179 


Perhaps the most revered observance of 'which social Brew- 
erton boasted, one handed down from its early history, was the 
Chrysanthemum Festival, an occasion of great beauty and which 
had become the annual celebration of society’s return from its 
summer vacation at Atlantic, City, the Great Lakes and moun- 
tain resorts, as well as the entree of debutantes to the season’s 
festivities. The “flowing bowl” had ever been an important and 
indispensable feature of the Festival. On this occasion, that he 
might effectively counteract the alarmingly increasing abstinence 
at social functions, Mr. Dornham had planned what he con- 
sidered a proper enthronement of Bacchus. 

Philip Dornham had never found pleasure in social gath- 
erings and was not a familiar figure at such functions. But 
there were two reasons why he chose to be present on this occa- 
sion. He wished to witness the social triumph of beer and he 
hoped by his presence to influence Helen in confirming the 
rumor of her engagement to Babson. While in no way an 
event of announcement, it was commented that it was the first 
public appearance of Helen with Fletcher Babson, and there- 
fore, regarded as of special significance. 

For the opening scene, the orchestra had selected “Sports 
and Feasting,” the introductory chorus from “La Gioconda,” 
and as the ensemble of instruments crashed in unison, the por- 
tieres at the end of the great hall were drawn, and a throne 
draped in golden grain rolled automatically to the center of the 
room. High in the center, surrounded by bottles of champagne, 
around which were festooned clusters of luscious grapes, rose 
an enormous beer keg, the polished oak staves held by bands of 
gold. As the burst of applause subsided, Fletcher Babson, 
leading Helen by the hand, approached. 

“Behold;” said he, “the nation’s recompense for all its 
woes! From the fruitful earth springs this golden grain; but, 
like the miser, holding in its sheath the warmth of life, it knows 
not its power until in sacrifice to science’s hidden hand it beats 
itself against the fermenting vat in labor of a new creation, when 
Lo ! it wakes in streams of filtered golden sunlight, reviving the 


180 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


drooping spirit, helping men forget their ills, and makes the poor 
dream dreams of wealth and love. With Lord Byron, that 
Patron Saint of pleasure, let us say, 

“ ‘Few things surpass good beer; and they may preach 
Who please — the more because they preach in vain — 

Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter. 
Sermons and soda-water the day after.’ ” 

Phil stood cheering with the brilliant company. It was his 
first social function since Alcohol had dealt him so severe a 
blow, and as yet he had felt no call of the past. In the 
strength of his will, he stood holding in his hand a glass of 
Apollinaris, and as he was about to raise it, his partner touched 
his arm. With a twinkle in her soft, lustrous eyes, she tipped 
to her pink lips the glass of champagne held in her hand and 
passed it to him. He took the glass but hesitated as he re- 
membered Dr. Morrison’s warning. 

“What!” she said, “Have my lips poisoned? — ” 

And he drained it to its dregs. 

Mr. Dornham did not wait for Phil’s return home. The 
habits of the past few months had served to relieve his mind of 
solicitude about his son ; he went peacefully to his bed, happier, 
perhaps, than he had ever been. 

But when the butler opened the front door to get the morn- 
ing paper for Mr. Dornham, Phil, in his evening clothes, with 
a light fall top-coat, was lying crouched against the door, 
breathing heavily, his body at intervals shaken by the chilly 
autumn air. He was carried to his room, undressed, and put to 
bed. 

“Mr. Phil is not feeling well, sir,” said the butler in an- 
swer to Mr. Dornham’s inquiry, “and does not wish to be dis- 
turbed.” 

At twelve o’clock, Helen went to his room, but receiving no 
response, she entered. A strong odor of liquor filled the room.. 
The touch of his bloated face burned her hand. His breathing 
was labored and as he moved and opened his blood-shot eyes, 
he moaned. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


181 


“O, this pain!” said he, touching his chest. “O! I can’t 
breathe! Get a doctor, Helen. Do you reckon the governor — 
would father stand for Morrison?” he asked. 

“I wouldn’t risk it, Phil,” said she, “for some reason father 
doesn’t like him. I’ll call Dr. Lamar.” 

“Oh, this pain! Tell him to come quick, Helen,” he urged. 

Within an hour the patient was removed to a hospital. 

Surrounded by specialists, he received the most heroic and 
scientific treatment for pneumonia known to medical science. 
Later in the day Dr. LeDeur, the noted Chicago pulmonary 
specialist, was on his way to Brewerton by special train. 

But a few weeks later, Phil was removed to the Dornham 
hospital for treatment of a rapidly developed case of pulmonary 
tuberculosis, only to learn after a short while that the last and 
only hope was the rarefied air of the far West. 


182 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XXX 

MORRISON AND DORNHAM DEBATE 
"'The prince of darkness of a gentleman/' 

C OMING at a time when the supreme triumph of Mr. 
Dornham’s life seemed to be in sight, the untimely re- 
moval of his only son from the great possibilities which 
stretched out before him came as an exceedingly severe blow. 
His grief was intense. He believed that it was for Phil he had 
labored; that it was around him that he had laid the founda- 
tion of the carefully built invincible fortress, offensive and de- 
fensive, of influence and power. And just as he was in the act 
of hoisting the final capstone, and while unable to discover any 
breach, apparent defeat entered. 

As Phil lay in the Dornham Hospital daily growing weaker, 
Mr. Dornham pleaded with the physicians to heal his son. He 
taunted them with the power of his wealth, with the unrestricted 
sum which he was willing to pay for a cure. And when he 
learned that for all his millions, the price of a railway ticket, 
food to eat, and a bed on which the young man might rest his 
wasting body, was the limit of its purchasing power; that if 
Phil were to live, he must live by breathing the free air of the 
great West, breathed by common thousands, he concluded in 
irritable disgust that there was some great mistake, some inex- 
cusable blunder. That he was in any way responsible for Phil’s 
condition did not occur to Mr. Dornham. 

But Mr. Dornham did not permit his son’s affliction, how- 
ever distressing and disappointing, to interfere with the final 
and crowning success of Alcohol. As the boy was raced across 
the continent in a special train, and occasionally lifted his weary 
head to look out upon the fast receding scenes of all that was 
dear to him, Philip Dornham, with the accumulated influence 
of what the world pronounced success, moved upon the Capital 
of the United States. 

For two hundred unwearying days and nights beer had made 
its claim for healthful temperance, its appeal for a respectable 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


183 


divorcement from distilled spirits and its plea for honorable ex- 
istence over the enchanting name of Philip Dornham, philan- 
thropist and student of governmental economics. Every effort 
of his immense machinery had converged to the convening of the 
fall term of the Sixty-fifth Congress which it was known would 
either pass or kill the Senate amendment to the federal consti- 
tution prohibiting the manufacture and sale of alcoholic bever- 
ages. 

And never for one moment did Mr. Dornham doubt the 
final issue. While he did not conceal his displeasure with his 
government for even entertaining this revolutionary legislation, 
in this great and final test of business justice he was confident. 
He believed the appeal he had made for beer through its claim 
for healthful temperance was convincing, but for whatever 
weakness there may have been in that appeal, he believed that, 
as a last compelling argument, his bursting treasury held the 
key. 

Having summoned his forces from the four corners of the 
nation, legislative organization was quickly perfected, under the 
most systematic team work. Senator Scanlan and Senator Du- 
boise, and Congressman Beeker directing the forces in the Con- 
gressional chamber, while Babson carefully censored the pub- 
licity, with Samuels in charge of the subterranean Congress. 

At the end of the first week, prohibition leaders, who had 
felt confident of their position, were forced to admit that the 
amendment was not only losing friends but dangerously im- 
perilled. Representatives strongly in its favor, when Congress 
had adjourned, confessed their conviction of the wisdom of re- 
taining beer as the practical solution of the temperance question. 

Such was the alarming situation which met prohibition 
leaders when they arrived in Washington late in November to 
hold their conference of allied prohibition organizations of 
America, through which they hoped favorably to impress Con- 
gress. It required only days to discover the serious fact that 
if the amendment was to pass, some method must be provided 
to get the ear of Congress in a direct presentation of convincing 


184 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


evidence of the need of such legislation. Urging the right of 
petition as the first great principle of democracy, Congress was 
invited by the prohibition forces to attend a joint debate by the 
advocates and opponents of the proposed amendment. At the 
same time an open challenge was issued to the opposing forces. 
Unable to defeat the resolution to accept the invitation, Sena- 
tor- Scanlan was chosen as spokesman for the opposition. 

Aside from his antagonism to the national food administra- 
tion, the senator’s personal hatred for the theory of prohibition 
of alcoholic beverages was his dominant characteristic. His 
speech was a severe denunciation both of the proposed amend- 
ment and the men responsible for it. With the honorable prec- 
edent of former President Taft, he attacked the constitutionality 
of the act, and quoted liberally from the Boston Transcript, 
The World, Philadelphia Enquirer, Globe-Democrat and 
Louisville Courier-Journal. He argued the undemocratic pos- 
sibility of minority rule, warning Congress of the great danger 
of tampering with the sacred rights of states. But his perora- 
tion came in scathing denunciation of southern and western 
states for assuming to foist their obnoxious principle of curtail- 
ment of personal privilege upon other and unwilling sections. 

“But,” said the Senator, abruptly closing, “I have spoken 
only of why the amendment should not pass. There are those 
who believe that it can be changed to meet all rational demands 
for temperance and still retain for the American people their 
right of free action. 

“We are honored today by the presence of one whose hands, 
though full of the great problems which have crowned his ef- 
forts with success, has not declined to turn aside and answer 
the call of human need ; one whose great philanthropy is eloquent 
testimony of the love he bears his fellows, and the principles 
of justice and willing service which characterize his life. Com- 
ing as he does from the ranks of the great world financiers, in- 
fluenced by no hope of financial gain, but impelled only by an 
interest in human efficiency and business justice, his opinion is 
worth more than my own, perhaps more than any who may 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


185 


Speak to you this evening. At the risk of displeasing a modesty 
which permits no parade of his good deeds, I am going to re- 
quest Mr. Philip Dornham of the city of Brewerton, founder of 
the Dornham Hospital for the free treatment of the ‘great white 
plague,’ to state his unbiased opinion of what is wise and just 
for the American people and fair for invested capital. I have 
the pleasure of presenting Mr. Philip Dornham.” 

Mr. Dornham ’s reception was all that he could have desired, 
inspiring him in the delivery of a strong and convincing pre- 
sentation of his sincerity and faith in the appeal which he made 
for temperance through the use of beer. “I believe, my fellow 
countrymen,” he concluded, “there is not one of you whose sole 
object, like my own, is other than to enact legislation just to 
all men and for the common good. And I do not believe any 
surer course lies before you than to pass the prohibition amend- 
ment with the manufacture of brewed and vinous beverages 
eliminated from its provisions.” 

It was evident as Mr. Dornham took his seat that his ap- 
peal had made a deep impression. Men whispering to their 
neighbors received confirming nods. 

The name of the speaker who was to follow him in behalf 
of the amendment had not been announced, and while more 
than a score of governors of states, and prominent advocates of 
the cause, sat upon the platform, interest was intense as to who 
would at this most critical moment in all the years of advocacy 
of prohibition, present its cause. It was a moment of national 
destiny ; a time when civilization had its face expectantly turned 
to the American Congress to point the way to world reform. 

There was, therefore, disappointment and satisfaction in pro- 
portion to the interest of the auditor, when the speaker was an- 
nounced in the person of the comparatively unknown Dr. Robert 
Morrison. Although presented as an eminent pathological au- 
thority upon alcoholism whose research had carried him to every 
known part of the world, the absence of receptive enthusiasm 
as he stepped to the front, caused a satisfied smile to play upon 
the face of the previous speaker. 


186 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


If Dr. Morrison was conscious that there were other thou- 
sands in the great audience he gave no indication of it. For a 
moment he stood silent with the weight of responsibility, look- 
ing into the faces of the law-makers occupying the seats di- 
rectly in front of him. 

“Gentlemen of the Congress: Let us stop just a moment,” he 
began, “and consider the seriousness of the thing which we are 
about to do ; momentous, whatever the result of our action may 
be. Alcohol is a product of civilization; nowhere is it found 
native to the uncivilized nations of the earth. For at least 
forty centuries it has played its part in civilized society the 
world over — in politics, in religion, in life and in death. And 
here, in the first quarter of the twentieth century in the era of 
the Christ, we hear the cry coming up from well-nigh every 
portion of the earth demanding the annihilation of it. 
There must be some powerful cause for this demand. What 
can it be? 

“The honored senator from whose state I hail, like Noah, 
whose drunken nakedness was exposed, hurls the curse at those 
who point out its shameless crime against the civilization that 
nurses it, but offers no cure for the evil. Mr. Dornham, whom 
it is my privilege to know, professes to have a better cause. Ac- 
knowledging and condemning the evil of distilled beverages, he 
asks you to pass the death sentence upon them. But in the 
name of human welfare, in whose cause he says he pleads, he 
asks you to save — to spare beer to bless the race of man! We 
must not forget, however, that Alcohol has ever been the arch 
deceiver of man. 

“It is my purpose, gentlemen of Congress, to speak simply, 
understandingly, and above all, honestly. My remarks shall be 
confined to the effect of alcoholic beverages upon the human 
system, and I am sure you will not charge me with undue ego- 
tism, when I say I shall speak to you with the authority of the 
physician who has made a life study of his case. Yet the facts 
which I shall give you are not of my discovery; they are mine 
by confirmation. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


187 


“Mr. Dornham tells you that beer is a temperance beverage. 
Think of it as you may, gentlemen, ‘temperance’ as applied to 
the use of alcoholic beverages is only a polite term which civil- 
ization has adopted for slow poisoning. Alcohol, whether di- 
luted in a bottle of beer or hidden in a highball, though varied 
in its outward expression, is universal in its psycho-physical ef- 
fects. At the risk of offending your intelligence, I am going to 
refresh your memories with a simple statement of alcohol’s 
action upon the human system. You, of course, have not for- 
gotten that alcohol when taken into the stomach is not digested 
and eliminated in the manner of food ; that, upon the contrary, 
it is immediately absorbed into the blood and passed to every 
vital part. 

“I am sure I recall to most of you your professor’s favorite 
lecture upon sanitation in which he so graphically pictured the 
white corpuscles of the blood as the ‘little policemen’ of the 
body. Yet how accurate! How expressive this simple illustra- 
tion 1 In their normal state never asleep, never negligent, these 
‘little policemen’ whose function it is to arrest and destroy in- 
vading germs, microbes, dust, and chemical irritants, while we 
are asleep and while we are awake, are ever standing at the 
door of our health fighting our battles against pneumonia, ty- 
phoid, tuberculosis, and other germs and poisons. 

“What would Mr. Dornham think were I to propose to 
anaesthetize, make helpless, completely knock out, every police- 
man in Brewerton that guards and makes safe his wealth! Yet, 
he asks you, gentlemen, to save beer — alcohol — the narcotic that 
puts to sleep these white corpuscles — these ‘little policemen’ 
that guard the health of the individual and the nation! Two 
minutes after alcohol is swallowed it is being absorbed into the 
blood and its first action is to intoxicate, to make helpless and 
inert these little enemies of disease, disease which when once it 
passes these faithful sentinels and takes hold upon life, even the 
Dornham Hospital which the senator has rightly eulogized, is 


188 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


helpless to kill. And please remember, gentlemen, I am not 
describing the drunkard ; I am stating the universal action of 
alcohol. 

“But this is only the initial step of alcohol’s battle against 
health and life. 

“Go tomorrow into the physiologist’s laboratory, under the 
microscope, examine the liver, the kidneys, the heart, the lungs, 
the nerve centers and the brain of a human body having been 
addicted to the use of alcohol — not the drunkard, but the beer 
drinker whom Mr. Dornham terms the temperate man. See 
the cirrhosed tissue and cells of these organs. It will help you 
to understand why Professor Bollinger, who performed 6,000 
autopsies in Munich, found that every sixteenth male had died 
of ‘Munich beer heart.’ It will help you in an understanding 
of the statement of this eminent authority when he tells you 
that, ‘One rarely finds in Munich a faultless heart and a 
ilormal kidney.’ It will make intelligible the record of Profes- 
sor Kraepelin that, not only is alcohol the immediate cause of a 
third of all his cases of mental disease in Munich, but that in a 
large series of pathological conditions — including paralysis, epil- 
epsy, and arterio-sclerosis — it is the chief factor, and one of the 
most important causes of degeneracy. It will make plain to 
you why the International Tuberculosis Congress meeting in 
Paris a few years ago, and since emphasizing its pronounce- 
ment, officially affirmed the relationship of alcohol and tuber- 
culosis, declaring the necessity of proceeding against both, if tu- 
berculosis were to be vanquished. You will, after that exami- 
nation, gentlemen, have a more practical and intelligent un- 
derstanding of why science universally condemns alcohol as an 
antagonist to health, an enemy to life, and a relentless foe to 
posterity. You will not be surprised that life insurance com- 
panies reject its devotees. 

“These things being true, is it strange that among all the 
signs of progress in our most highly civilized nations there are 
to be noted, with greater and greater frequency, frightful evi- 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


189 


dences of lessening physical and mental vigor? The study of 
this phase of the topic w^ould require an evening within itself, 
but I shall only ask your patience while I briefly review it. 

*“In Switzerland, a few years ago. Professor Demme made 
a careful comparison of the children of drinking and non-drink- 
ing parents. He studied for a long period the life-histories of 
ten families from each class, selecting them most carefully and 
from exactly the same living conditions. In those where no 
intoxicants were used there were 61 children, of which five 
died in infancy, two were diseased, two were mentally slow, two 
deformed, and fifty normal. In the other group there were 57 
children, of whom 25 died in infancy, one was diseased, six 
idiotic, five deformed, five dwarfed, five epileptic, and ten nor- 
mal. In a word, in the abstaining families, 82 per cent of the 
children were normal, and 18 per cent defective, while in the 
drinking families, the figures were almost reversed, 82.5 per cent 
were defective, and but 17.5 per cent normal. 

“Alcohol causes degeneracy in the offspring at the very be- 
ginning of life. Forel, who has given special study from the 
nerve and mental viewpoints, shows that alcoholic poisoning of 
the body and of the germ cells is one of the most potent causes 
of race degeneracy, and that the injuries in one generation tend 
to become permanent. Laitinen, after studying 17,394 children, 
says ‘that the alcohol drinking by parents, even in small quanti- 
ties (about a glass of beer a day), has exercised a degenerative 
influence upon their offspring.’ In New York City, of 20,147 
cases of school children examined by Dr. MacNichol, 53 per 
cent of those that came from drinking homes were below the 
average in mental capacity, or dullards; 10 per cent of those 
from total abstinence families being so classed. 

“You will permit me to say, my countrymen, that by per- 
sonal observation and experimentation I have confirmed these 
facts, which I have quoted from more learned authority. I 
know them to be true — horribly true ! 

* Social Welfare and the Liquor Problem. — By Warner. 


190 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Just how all this degenerative influence takes place, what 
defects are transmitted, and how permanent they may be in an 
evolutionary sense, are not yet clear. But the fact for the pres- 
ent is clear — that the regular use of alcohol is crippling man’s 
descendants, diminishing their mental and physical health, 
bringing into the world defectives, deformed, epileptic, and 
criminally inclined, making such life as they are capable of liv- 
ing harder and more perilous, and casting upon present society 
a fearful economic burden, as well as laying a foundation for 
steady deterioration in the future. A man who calls himself a 
‘moderate’ drinker is in danger of leaving upon society a greater 
burden than if he rapidly ruined himself through ‘excess’ and 
threw himself directly upon its support. 

“Yet to correct this. Senator Scanlan argues, is ‘unconstitu- 
tional,’ that it is interference with ‘states rights,’ that it is un- 
justifiable curtailment of ‘personal privilege.’ I declare to you, 
my countrymen, that the first instinct of the individual and the 
first aim of society organized into government is self-preserva- 
tion, and no duty, no responsibility under the police power of 
the state, is more sacred than the preservation of health. 

“If personal drinking of alcoholic liquors is injurious to 
health — and the facts show that this is true — it strikes at what 
is fundamental in society. It is therefore no longer a private 
matter, but a burning public question. For, since health is the 
very first essential to public well-being and private gain, the 
very existence of the state is threatened by whatever causes 
mental or physical degeneracy in any considerable number of its 
citizens. 

“And now, permit me to refer once more to Mr. Dornham’s 
plea for beer. For, of all these destroying effects of alcohol — 
these death-heads with whicff it has decorated itself — beer has 
one other and more debasing quality. 

“Contrary to Mr. Dornham’s contention, and the generally 
accepted belief, beer is even more noxious than are distilled 
liquors. The actual reason for this has been known for only a 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


191 


few years, and even yet is not generally understood. Perhaps Mr. 
Dornham does not know it. Yet it is very simple. For, in addi- 
tion to the small whisky glass of alcohol in each pint of beer, 
beer also contains a large and varying percentage of lupulin — 
the active principle of hops. 

“That we may get the full meaning of the presence of this 
drug in beer of which the drinking public is in ignorance, 
permit me to refer to what many of you may know : That upon 
the female blossom of Indian hemp there are glands holding a 
narcotic, sticky, bitter substance from which ‘hashish,’ the native 
narcotic used by the Mohammedan peoples of West and South 
Africa and the Malay Archipelago is extracted. It is more bru- 
talizing than any known narcotic drug, its sensualizing influ- 
ence exceeding even that of cocaine. These native addicts often 
commit the most foul and revolting crimes under its influence. 
And now, gentlemen, let us not fail to get the full significance 
of these facts: 

“On the female blossom of hops, in addition to certain 
terpines, acids and resins, most injurious to the nervous system 
and kidneys, there is contained this same bitter, sticky substance, 
in hops called ‘lupulin’, but containing the exact elements and 
active principle of ‘hashish’. Beer, gentlemen, is the most se- 
ductive — the most sensualizing, and the most brutalizing bev- 
erage known to civilization! 

“In pointing you to the German nation as an example in tem- 
perance, Mr. Dornham did not inform you that as far back as 
1907, 31,809 cases of alcoholism and delirium tremens were 
treated in the general hospitals and 19,096 in asylums, epileptic 
homes and similar institutions in Germany. But today, gentle- 
men, you do not have to be told the condition of the German 
mind; Germany, the country universally addicted to the beer 
habit, “is a nation mad with delirium — the brutalizing delirium 
of ‘lupulin’ — of beer! 

“Gentlemen of Q)ngress, would you Prussianize America 
with beer?” 

There was nothing sensational other than the stubborn facts 


192 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


which he had recited ; there was no dramatic appeal as the doc- 
tor had woven his chain of incriminating evidence. There was 
evidence that by the simplicity of presentation of only one of 
the many sided problems of alcohol he was making a powerful 
appeal to the intelligence of his hearers. But when in clear, 
distinct and solemn tones he propounded that question and for 
a moment stood with uplifted hand looking into the eyes of 
Congress as if waiting for reply, with the accent of power; 
with the ring of a renewed national conscience, the answer came, 
“No! No!” 

As the mighty protest passed and the thousands pressed for- 
ward to take the hand of Dr. Morrison, turning to Mr. Dorn- 
ham whose face was colorless. Senator Scanlan whispered, 

“You may save your millions for other battles; this one’s 
lost.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


193 


CHAPTER XXXI 

A TEST OF ENDURANCE 

‘^Wo change j no pause, no hope! Yet I endure/* 

F or David Courtney the summer had been but one steady, 
swift, and irresistible engulfing stream. His clients, 
confined to a select number of the most impor- 
tant of Brewerton’s industries, he had seen leave him, 
one by one, until only two remained. Of these, Mr. Roebstock, 
who was able only partially to rehabilitate the operation of his 
mines, was awaiting the maturing of his indebtedness to Philip 
Dornham as one condemned dreads the day of execution. The 
white spots, where formerly advertisements appeared in The 
Intelligencer, gave daily warning to him of the end of the other, 
Ben Walton. 

Yet never for once did he waver in the life purpose which 
now inspired him. True to his pledge to the dying Batty, he 
had joined forces with Dr. Morrison, and like the North and 
the South — those great sections of which they were products, 
once divided by error, now actuated by one supreme, intelligent 
purpose — they struck hands in undying zeal until America’s 
shores should be freed from a slavery more inhumanely cruel 
than any other charged to the shame of civilization. Courtney 
was unconscious of the deep conviction which was daily growing 
in the hearts of men as the result of the doctor’s teaching and 
his own eloquence. At times, under the ridicule and abuse of 
The Dispatch and the depression of physical weariness, he ap- 
proached discouragement, but without faltering. 

Following the Coalfield riot, the authorities proceeded in- 
dustriously to bring the rioters to justice. But no effort was 
made to fix responsibility for the inceptive cause further than 
the negro Chisholm, one of the first to fall before the fury of 
the mob. Courtney and Dr. Morrison therefore, believing they 
had reason to suspect responsibility higher up, instituted the 
inquiry as a part of their determined program to uncover the 
ramifications of Alcohol in Brewerton. Unable to influence the 


194 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


State authorities to press the necessary investigation, just when 
the probe was about to uncover incriminating evidence, indi- 
cating its nature to be a case for the federal authorities, Court- 
ney received an anonymous letter warning him against further 
investigation, while strangely coincident, therewith The Dis- 
patch launched a discrediting attack upon private detectives — 
“paid spies” — and the value of their testimony in a court of jus- 
tice. 

Captain Saterlee of the United States Department of Jus- 
tice, after an hour’s conference with Courtney, had left him as 
Dr. Morrison entered fresh from his triumph in Washington. 

“Lo, the conquering hero comes!” exclaimed Courtney, 
greeting him warmly. 

“Hardly that,” said the doctor modestly, “but the amend- 
ment will pass.” 

“ ‘Glory to God in the highest!’ ” said Courtney, fervently. 

“ ‘And on earth, good will to men !’ ” added the doctor. 

“What of Dornham? The papers say he made a great plea 
for beer.” 

“When I thought of Phil, Dave, and heard that old man 
pleading in the name of temperance for the thing which he 
knows has murdered his own son, and tied him to a lingering 
death, I believe the greatest temptation of my life was to de- 
nounce him upon the platform. I understand he left Washing- 
ton in a great huff, the night of the debate.” 

“Perhaps this will not make you feel more kindly to the 
powerful house of John Barleycorn & Company,” said Court- 
ney, handing him a copy of the black-hand letter, and explaining 
that he had turned the original, together with the riot inquiry, 
over to federal authorities. 

“I wonder,” exclaimed the doctor, studying this new evi- 
dence of its arrogant insolence, “if there is another city in the 
United States so honeycombed with the influence of alcohol!” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


195 


“Many!” replied Courtney. “That is not an unusual 
method of alcohol, you must remember. Perhaps Brewerton is 
just a little more under its domination than most places, for I 
do confess, until the trial of O’Connell for the murder of 
Gardner in which its power transformed justice into legal 
farce, I did not believe such a condition was possible in an 
American court.” 

“Ah, that shameful travesty!” exclaimed the doctor. 

“One which I do not propose to see re-enacted in the trial 
of Schwartzberg set for next week,” replied the attorney, posi- 
tively. 

“But will you not be as helpless as before?” 

“If the district attorney under Samuels’ influence can work 
it, yes. But fortunately for the cause of justice, Judge Handis 
will preside. I am determined to make that the legal effort of 
my experience. I’ll show old Dornham I’ve got some fight left, 
if no clients.” 

“Have you heard of the engagement of Miss Dornham to 
Babson?” asked the doctor, abruptly. 

“What!” exclaimed Courtney savagely. “Who — ?” 

“Mr. Horlick tells me she has indicated to Mrs. Horlick her 
intention of submitting to her father’s demands. Mrs. Horlick 
blames you for being unfair to Miss Dornham.” 

Following the misunderstanding with Helen, together with 
his other humiliations, Courtney had immured himself from all 
social demands, seldom seeing even his closest friends. The 
attitude of pity with which Mr. and Mrs. Horlick treated him, 
perhaps unconsciously, and certainly from the sincerest motives,’ 
was obnoxious to one of Courtney’s mind. It had caused him 
to avoid them — the only friends whom he cared to see. He 
knew nothing of the gossip of society and this was the first 
intimation he had of Helen’s serious consideration of her father’s 
long cherished purpose. During the half year in which he had 
not seen her, he had experienced the severest persecution which 


196 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


the power of money urged by the cruel hate of Alcohol could 
inspire. But his love for Helen, like the giant oak shaken by the 
storm, had only struck its roots deeper into the soil of his soul. 
As the shipwrecked sailor, beaten by the winds and scorched by 
the sun, hopes for land at last, there had lingered the faith 
within him that sometime, somehow she would believe him 
faithful and give back in kind the love that had shielded her 
from pain. 

The days that followed were days of the severest torture. 
Aside from making Helen his wife, there was nothing which he 
desired so much as hearing the pronouncement of legal ven- 
geance upon the murderer of Batty Spillman, the sandwich boy, 
whom he had learned to love. Yet, in the agony of his soul he 
could not bring his mind under the control which the case de- 
manded. Upon the evening preceding the trial date, after hav- 
ing spent an hour savagely tramping his office floor, concluding 
to silence or confirm his doubts and fears, he called at the 
Horlick home. He would at least convince Mrs. Horlick that 
he had not been unkind or unfaithful — perhaps convince and 
enable her to persuade Helen to remain faithful in waiting. 

Without knowing he was in the house, Mrs. Horlick en- 
tered the nursery to find Courtney and her husband standing 
over the baby, and even the compliment to a young mother of 
showing interest in her first-born did not enable Mrs. Hor- 
lick to receive him otherwise than coolly. Mrs. Horlick had 
reason to believe Helen intended marrying Fletcher Babson, 
and frankly admitted it to him with the added belief that his 
conduct had forced Helen to the conclusion that he had de- 
ceived her. 

“You are aware,” he defended himself, “of what Mr. Dorn- 
ham told Helen. No part of it was true. Do you not see the 
impossibility of explaining, without showing her father to her 
in a light which she must abhor? I have kept silent because 
of my love. The time may come when the public good will 
demand the uncovering of her father’s duplicities. But no pain 
shall ever come to Helen for personal gain to me.” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


197 


Mrs. Horlick was bewildered. He had spoken in perfect 
frankness and apparent honesty, yet did she not have in her 
possession evidence which belied his smooth words? Leaving 
the room, she returned quickly, determined to pillory him upon 
his own unworthy duplicity. 

“Well, Mr. Courtney, suppose you explain that!” she de- 
manded handing him the photograph which she had refused to 
surrender to Mrs. Richards. 

“Oh!” he exclaimed, his face blanching angrily. Going to 
the light he took from his pocket a small reading glass, and ex- 
amined the photograph carefully, then returned it to Mrs. Hor- 
lick. “It’s a long story,” said he, “with very dark spots in it. 
I do not think you would care to hear it.” 

“Let me have your glass,” said she. “Why, what’s this?” 
she exclaimed as the glass brought out indistinctly the letters 
Y. W. C. A. over the door in which he was photographed. 
“Now, Dave, what is it?” 

Beginning with the photograph, he traced the story back- 
ward and as he finished, tears were streaming down her cheeks, 
and it was Dick who exclaimed: 

“What! Gardner’s child?” 

“His only child,” replied Courtney. 

Going to the telephone. Rose called Helen. She wanted 
her to come to see her early the following morning. 

“Rose,” said Helen, “I received a letter from Phil today in 
which he enclosed a photograph. And, Rose, I don’t under- 
stand; you remember that photograph — that Mrs. Richards 
had ? I believe it’s the same woman. And yet ! Phil calls her 
‘the angel of the camp.’ She has the loveliest, sad face! But — 
but I don’t understand !” 

“Bring it with you, Helen; perhaps I can help you.” And 
as she hung up the receiver, she sighed. “Poor child ! Perhaps 
you have been right, Dave, but you have caused her to suffer. 
Please leave that glass with me.” 


198 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XXXII 

MURDER WITHOUT SLIP OR TRAIL 

^'What's open made 
To justice, that justice seizes/' 

F ollowing Mr. Domham’s defeat in Washington, for 
four days he secluded himself from all callers, upon his 
return to Brewerton. During this period he declined to 
see even Babson and Samuels and when at last they were ad- 
mitted to his presence they were immeasurably shocked. A row 
of empty beer bottles stood behind his desk, his face was bloated, 
his hands trembled and his voice was raspingly husky as he 
heaped vituperative denunciation upon the government and bit- 
ter curses upon Courtney, Dr. Morrison and Ben Walton. He 
denounced Senator Scanlan and Congressman Beeker for “lying 
down like whipped curs at the voice of a hypocritical doctor.” 
He censured Babson for lack of enthusiastic faith and support, 
and berated Samuels for the failure of the method he had pro- 
posed to save beer from inclusion in the prohibition amendment. 

“If you don’t like my work, cut it out,” said Samuels, sul- 
lenly. 

“Cut it out!” he snarled. “That infernal doctor saved that 
trouble.” 

For a moment Samuels eyed him resentfully, even scorn- 
fully. 

“I think we’d better have an understanding,” said he, 
“What you wanted was to make the saloons into Young Men’s 
Christian Associations. To humor you I showed you the only 
chance — little as it was, and it failed. Now it’s up to you to 
take the business as it is, use the ways and means of the saloon 
to lick hell out of the prohibitionists, or quit.” 

“Quit!” Mr. Dornham fairly screamed. “You — you, Sam- 
uels, say quit!” And passionately glowering, he beat his fist 
upon the arm of his chair. “Quit! I’ll show the hypocritical 
devils how I’ll quit!” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


199 


“Well!” exclaimed Samuels, drawing himself up in his chair. 
“Damned if I don’t b’lieve you’re goin’ to be worth the price 
after all.” 

At the manner of Samuels’ expression of approval he ex- 
hibited no resentment. 

“That ex-Governor you told us about — what’s his name?” 
he asked. 

“Coleman.” 

“Can we get him — all his time?” 

“No,” replied Samuels, “he’s contracted ‘office-phobia’; he’s 
runnin’ for somethin’ or other — always is when he ain’t got 
an office. Now it’s governor’s job. Congress or Senate, or some- 
thin’, and don’t forget it, he’s snarlin’ and snappin’ and he’ll 
have ’em sizzin’ before he’s through.” 

Babson was only a listener. He knew Mr. Dornham was 
in no humor for his legal conservatism, and he was unwilling to 
invite upon himself his present wrath. Mr. Dornham had 
turned his back to him and sat facing Samuels. 

“You said Wilson — the government was afraid, Samuels,” 
said he. His eyes narrowed into slits, a deeper red colored his 
cheeks and bringing his fist down with a force that caused the 
empty bottles to click against each other, he growled, “Damn 
’em. I’ll make ’em afraid! Tomorrow you start to the North- 
east — .” Samuels stopped him. 

“You know Schwartzberg’s trial — ” 

“That’s so. The hour that’s over,” he continued, “you 
start for the North and East, then through the South and into 
the West. You know what to do.” 

Samuels walked across the room stretching his arms as if 
testing the return of lost power. Stopping in front of the 
banker, he reached out to grasp his hand. In deep determined 
gutturals he hissed: 

“Just keep your ear to the ground, honor my drafts, and 
I’ll promise you you’ll hear things droppin’. Not a dozen 
states ’ll ever ratify that damned amendment.” 


200 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


In the addresses which he had made since the death of Batty 
Spillman, Courtney had not failed to use the sad story in mak- 
ing his case against Alcohol. Saved from the potter’s field by 
love, the body of the sandwich boy slept under a well-kept 
grave; yet, through the eloquence of his friend, he still lived in 
power and influence for childhood. The story of Batty should 
never die as long as Alcohol clothed a child in rags, as long as 
cruel injustice brought a tear. 

The day of trial of the slayer of Batty was announced by 
The Intelligencer, Only a small percentage of those who had 
heard the story and had been moved by it to a clearer sense of 
justice, was able to gain entrance to the court room. 

“Would it be a day of justice?” 

That was the question upon the lips of thousands of earnest 
men and women in Brewerton that day. It was the question 
seared with sorrow into the heart of Courtney, as he reflected 
upon the past five years’ unbroken record of “not guilty” in the 
court roster of cases where the saloon had been involved. 

Carl Schwartzberg did not sit in the prisoner’s dock. Neither 
had Patrick O’Connell. Alcohol had license in Brewerton! 
Ruddy, big-jowled, and defiant, his unlighted cigar between his 
teeth, he occupied a seat by his counsel. As David Courtney’s 
name was announced, as the assistant to the prosecuting attorney, 
he scowled. 

“Addorney — nein!” he was heard to hiss to his counsel. 
Although seasoned to the experience by years of legal practice, 
the effect upon Courtney, as the clerk called the first juryman 
to go upon his voir dire, was not unlike that on the inex- 
perienced hunter who sees the rise of a covey of birds which he 
has been momentarily expecting. It was the time of his oppor- 
tunity, or his failure! At the trial of O’Connell, he had 
strongly protested to the district attorney against entering trial 
where the personnel of the jury itself presaged defeat. He 
had submitted in deference to professional ethics, to the decision 
of the leading counsel. Again he was facing the alternative of 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


201 


responsibility for the defeat of justice or disregard of court 
room decorum. 

To the apparent satisfaction of the district attorney, the 
juryman had answered the questions propounded. He bore kin- 
ship to neither the deceased nor the accused, was not opposed 
to capital punishment, had no relation with attorneys for either 
the prosecution or defense, had formed no opinion which would 
disqualify him in rendering a verdict according to the law and 
the evidence, and was engaged in the business of “market.” 

It is easy to make resolve, but it is not easy for one who has 
practiced a profession by the strictest rules of professional ethics 
to change in a moment. But if there was indecision in Court- 
ney’s mind, it was but for a moment, for as the blood-stained 
bandage around the pale face of Batty flashed across his mem- 
ory, it was forgotten. As he rose to his feet holding a copy of 
the city directory, his hand, that a moment before had trembled, 
was steady. 

“I wish to ask some questions,” said he. Judge Handis, en- 
gaged in making a notation upon the roster, laid down his pen. 
The face of District Attorney Hamlin turned purple with as- 
tonished resentment. 

“What is your full name?” Courtney asked. 

“Oscar Schmidt,” answered the juror. 

“And your business?” 

“Market.” 

“Anything else?” 

“Ice and coal when I can get it.” 

“What else, Mr. Schmidt?” 

“Lunch counter,” said the juror dropping his eyes. 

“And what is it called under your license?” persisted the 
attorney, referring to the directory. 

The juror hesitated, then answered resentfully, “Saloon.” 

When the admission was at last dragged from him, Mr. 
Courtney requested the court to exclude all jurymen from the 
room, stating it to be his opinion that there was a condition 


202 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


existing of vital importance in this case which should be brought 
to the attention of the court before proceeding further with the 
case. Added to the strong objection of counsel for the defense, 
Mr. Hamlin expressed his astonishment at the statement and 
attitude of the Assistant Prosecuting Counsel and was unwilling 
to join in the request. But Judge Handis’ ear had not been 
deaf to the questions and the reluctant manner of their an- 
swers, and he preferred to hear a statement of the question. 

“May it please the Court,” said Mr. Courtney, “this is a 
case wherein Carl Schwartzberg, a saloon-keeper, is charged 
with the murder of William, alias ‘Batty’ Spillman, a boy in 
his teens. I do not know what the defense will be, but the 
evidence will establish the real casus belli to have been the crit- 
icism, the verbal attack by this small boy upon the saloon as an 
institution. Unavoidably, not only the prisoner at the bar, but 
the saloon, at least to some extent, must go on trial in this 
case. By checking the vocation of the veniremen from which 
this trial jury is to be drawn, I find, of the thirty-six, eight are 
mercantile tradesmen, six are mechanics and twenty-two are sa- 
loon proprietors, bartenders, brewery employees, or otherwise 
allied with the saloon. I do not presume to account for this 
anomalous situation, but justice demands a panel wherein jury- 
men shall not try their own case. I feel confident, your honor, 
that a mere statement of these facts is sufficient without argu- 
ment.” 

At the conclusion of the argument by the defense, wherein 
Mr. Courtney was taken severely to task for questioning the 
integrity of the “honorable gentlemen” composing the jury, as 
Judge Handis in his preliminary remarks was about to indicate 
the trend of his mind, the district attorney arose. 

“Your honor,” said he, “assuming that the state secures 
conviction which, with our evidence seems probable, I would 
regret it if the case should be appealed upon obviously tenable 
grounds. Do you not think the granting of Mr. Courtney’s 
request would involve an unusual decision?” 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


203 


“In my experience, Mr. Hamlin,” replied Judge Handis, 
“this is an unusual — I might say, a very unusual situation which 
Mr. Courtney has brought out, one which has never come 
to my attention before, and I trust it will not occur in my 
court again. My ruling is, that any juryman engaged in the 
sale or manufacture of alcoholic beverages will be excused by the 
court from serving upon this case. Mr. Sheriff, proceed to 
draw extra veniremen.” 

During this procedure there was perceptible tension in the 
court room, and as the decision was greeted by spontaneous ap- 
plause, though quickly suppressed, it was like the coming of 
power to Courtney. 

Following a hurried consultation with the defendant and his 
counsel, Samuels left the room. Entering the office of Philip 
Dornham he blustered; 

“Well, your little doctor put a crimp in us at Washington 
and now Courtney’s raised hell in the court house.” 

The very names of these two men had long been to Mr. 
Dornham like a red rag in the face of a Mexican bull. 

“Don’t mention either of those men to me again,” he ex- 
claimed angrily. 

“Far as I can see they’re pretty live subjects, Mr. Dornham; 
only way I know of keepin’ ’em out of conversation is to put 
’em — ” 

“Put ’em in hell as far as I’m concerned, but don’t ever 
mention them again.” 

“You’re not jokin’ ?” asked Samuels looking straight at the 
banker. 

“Have I made a reputation as a humorist?” he snarled. 

“Damn!” hissed Samuels. “I wish this had been yester- 
day.” 

After explaining what had happened in the court room, he 
concluded : 


204 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“WeVe got to have help. We’ve got to have Preston and 
Sinkler, and that means money! They want five thousand 
apiece, and in advance.” 

“Like hell they’ll get it!” 

For a moment Samuels eyed Mr. Dornham quizzically. 

“Thought we’d had an understanding,” said he. 

“Don’t be a damned fool, Samuels,” said Mr. Dornham, 
catching the tone of his voice; “that’s too much.” 

“It’s the price, and the terms. And twenty-five thousand’s 
goin’ to be the price of the other job — and no hagglin’.” 

Within the few days since he had adopted the full 
principles and practice of the saloon and had given Samuels a 
free hand, Mr. Dornham had not failed to perceive the growing 
boldness and often insolence of the political boss, at the same 
time finding himself unable to restrain or resist him. 

“What other job?” 

“Why tamin’ the highbrows.” 

“Thought you’d do that for the pleasure of it!” Mr. Dorn- 
ham smiled reconcilingly. 

“This ain’t Blinky and Red’s pleasure season,” said Sam- 
uels. 

“Well, mind you, no slips and no trails,” warned Mr. Dorn- 
ham. 

Within thirty minutes, Horatio Preston and Paul Sinkler, 
the most noted attorneys in criminal practice in Brewerton, en- 
tered the court room, and although announced as “assistant” 
counsel, took charge of the case. Samuels remained only long 
enough to speak some whispered words with the prisoner, glar- 
ing at Courtney as he left the room. 

Quickly entering his car, he chose a circuitous route through 
the city, and finally crossed the bridge into East Brewerton. 
At the end of the bridge he turned sharply to the right and 
after driving a few blocks stopped his car. He walked down a 
narrow street near the river front and entered the basement of 
what was once a brick dwelling. Over the door, hung loosely 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


205 


on its hinges, a weatherbeaten sign told that it was now used 
for “Day Sleepers.” As he entered, a man with arms folded, 
lifted his head from the counter and began automatically wip- 
ing the bar. 

“Where’s Blinky ’n Red, Fritz?” he asked. 

“Subbose de’s sleeb; I haf ’em seen not sins yis’rdays.” 

“Anything on?” asked Samuels. 

“O,” said Fritz, shrugging his heavy shoulders, “not mooch 
bez; leetle for tonight.” 

“Is the nigger Magully here?” 

“Des neger? Neger no goot! Let cop geet ’im; I be glat!” 

“You tell him to keep close for the next few days and I 
will have the trouble out of the way. Go get Blinky and Red.” 

Within a short time the two men entered and followed 
Samuels to a rear room furnished with roulette and other 
gambling device. When they were seated at a table and Fritz 
had served them with drinks, Samuels passed a slip of paper 
containing names to Blinky and in a voice little above a whisper 
gave his instructions. 

“Which’n first?” asked Blinky. 

“That; tonight,” Samuels replied drawing a circle around 
one of the names. 

“Tomorrow night,” replied Blinky. 

“Tonight! I said, damn you!” snarled Samuels. 

“Get somebody else; me en Red’s engaged,” replied Blinky 
indifferently. 

“Put off your job for tonight,” insisted Samuels. 

“Tomorrow night, or not at all!” 

“I hate to give the damned cuss another day,” replied 
Samuels. 

Drawing a long knife from a sheath under his coat, “So?” 
asked Blinky measuring about an inch on the blade. 

“To the hilt, damn him!” hissed Samuels through his 
clenched teeth. “Quiet place where he lives,” he continued. 
“Go out and get acquainted with the old nigger. Find out from 
him the lay of the land.” 


206 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


In the court house, with only a semblance of assistance from 
District Attorney Hamlin, Courtney contested every inch of 
ground with the two great opposing counsel, meeting every 
feint, sidestep and onrush with a steady unyielding determina- 
tion which was continually building his case for the final argu- 
ment. By night the evidence had been submitted. Carl 
Schwartzberg, denied the plea of going to his home under guard, ^ 
was remanded to jail. Judge Handis ordered the jury to be 
safeguarded, and the hour of nine o’clock of the following day 
was fixed for the beginning of arguments. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


207 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

SANCHO SAVES DAVID^S LIFE 

"'Conspiracies no sooner should be formed 
Than executed/* 

A S CINDY finished washing her dinner dishes her 
voice rose and fell in trembling cadence: 

“On Jor — d — an — s st — or — my — b — a — nk — s I 
— sta — and — ” 

A rap at the door caused the song to suddenly cease. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Courtney,” said the man lifting his 
hat and bowing low. 

“Wh — whut de mattah wid yo’ white folks?” asked Cindy. 
“Is yo’ blin’? Ef yo’ wants Miss Co’tney gw’on roun’ to de 
fron’ do’ lack white folks orter.” 

“Is Mr. Courtney in?” asked the man.” 

“Mr. Co’tney! Whut yo’ speck Marse Dave gwin be doin’ 
in de kitchen? Gw’on, white folks; gw’on en quit pesterin’ er 
me. Whyn’t yo’ come ter de fron’ do’ lack I axes yo’?” 

At that moment Sancho came shuffling round the corner 
with an armful of wood. 

“Is this Mr. Courtney?” asked Blinky, for it was he and 
Red who had so disturbed Cindy’s composure. 

“Yas’r, des es soon es I puts down dis load er kindlin’ hit 
is, suh,” said Sancho. 

“I’m Mr. Peterson, Mr. Courtney,” said Blinky, cordially 
shaking Sancho ’s hand. “Meet Mr. Barnes, Mr. Courtney.” 

“I’se bery pleas ter meet yo’, gen’mns, I sho’ is,” said 
Sancho, drawing himself up with great dignity. “Walk right 
in, gen’mns en hab er seat.” 

Stepping to the door, Cindy placed her hands upon her hips : 
“Not in my kitchen!” she announced loftily. 

“Cindy?” pleaded Sancho humbly. 


208 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Nigger, es ole es yo’ is, is yo’ gwin let yo’ ole head git 
turn wid er Mister? Ain’t yo’ nuver gwin git no sense?” 

Knowing the uselessness of argument with Cindy, Sancho 
led his guests to his cottage. 

“ ‘Mister’ Co’tney! ‘Mis-tress’ Co’tney!” repeated Cindy, 
still standing in the door. “Whur I come frum strange white 
folks — whut ain’t po’ white trash — call me ‘Aunt Cindy.’ Don’ 
dat ole nigger knows when white folks goes ter ‘ Mister ’n’ uv 
niggers dey ain’t quality folks, er else dey des a’ter sup’n dey 
got no business wid? Des lack ’im now, ter let dat ‘mister’ git 
’im in trouble,” mumbled Cindy as she turned to her stove to 
“chunk up” her fire. 

“Being old friends of Dave,” said Blinky, seated in Cindy’s 
best rocker, “and learning that he has become such a great man 
and so busy at his office — ” 

“Marse Dave sho’ am er busy man!” boasted Sancho. 

“Well, we thought we would call this evening and give 
him a surprise.” 

“Yas’r,” grinned Sancho, “Marse Dave, he be pow’fu’ glad 
ter see yo’. He sho’ will.” 

“Yes, I’m sure he will. Dear old Dave!” said Red. “It’s 
been a long time since we went to college with him. He used 
to talk about you.” 

“Yas’r I knows ’e did,” said Sancho, swelling with pride. 
“Me en Marse Dave, we bin riz lack gen’mns, suh. I don’ 
learn ’im de fus ting ’e ever knowd, suh. We been togither 
all us lives, suh. Yas’ree, Marse Dave, ’e say I his right 
bo wry.” 

“What time does he usually come of the evenings?” asked 
Blinky. 

“Cep’n sup’n happen, Marse Dave, he come zackly ten 
minits ’fore seb’n, suh; he do so’.” 

During the conversation, Red had been closely eyeing a 
curiously twisted, heavy hickory walking cane leaning against 
the chimney corner. It was, perhaps, Sancho's most cherished 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


209 


memory of the fertile valleys of the Mississippi, from which 
he had himself cut and fashioned it many years ago, and which 
in recent years had become his inseparable support whenever 
he was seen from home. Leaning upon it both in fact and in 
sentiment, he had lovingly named the cane “old honey,” admir- 
ing its sturdiness and remembering the days when he had taken 
it to himself, with an affection which Cindy might have envied, 
had she not received a greater homage. 

As the visitors rose to leave, giving Blinky the signal to oc- 
cupy Sancho’s attention. Red noiselessly slipped to where the 
cane rested and quickly concealed it in the leg of his trousers. 
Suddenly Sancho stopped. Reflected in the dresser mirror, he 
had witnessed the theft of his treasure I But, these were friends, 
of “Marse Dave”! How could he accuse them? Perhaps after 
all, he was mistaken. 

Bidding them goodbye, he hurried to the chimney corner, 
his white eyes bulging in their sockets. “Old honey” was gone 1 
Rushing to the thick cedar hedge which separated the back from 
the front yard, and peering down the walk he saw Red sud- 
denly stoop close to the heavy boxwood which bordered the 
walk, then unconcernedly go on his way. As soon as his visitors 
were out of sight, he slipped down to the spot and cautiously 
peered into the hedge. There, concealed in the thick growth, 
lay his cane, and he smiled. 

“Dat sho’ am yo’, old honey!” he exclaimed joyously. 

Reaching his hand in, when it had almost grasped the cane, 
he quickly drew it back. 

“Dar now! Whut ef dem mens put er hunger on dat 
stick?” Cocking his eyes suspiciously at the cane, he drew back. 
“Des stay dar, ole honey. Let ole Sancho tink erwhile.” 

As the two men turned the corner, Blinky asked, 

“What’s the ide. Red?” 

“That sure is some club !” said Red, “And it’ll fix it on the 
damned ole nig to a fare-ye-well.” 

“Some thought, pal !” Blinky replied as they entered a wait- 
ing car. 


210 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


“Who dem white trash?” asked Cindy as Sancho entered 
the kitchen. 

“Dar now, Cindy, des listen at you! Dey ole friends er 
Marse Dave,” Sancho replied pompously, unwilling to concede 
an error of judgment or acknowledge his own suspicions. 

“Dey ain’t nuthin’ er de kin’; dey don’ know Marse Dave 
no mo’ den I knows de king er Africy,” said Cindy in her 
loftiest manner. 

“Cindy, whut make yo’ so ’spicious?” asked Sancho. 

“’Spicious! ’Spicious, yo’ say, nigger? When er strange 
white man whut say he er frien’ er Marse Dave don’ ’dress me 
as ‘Aunt Cindy’, yo’ think I’se ’spicious? I ain’t ’spicious, 
honey; I des here ter tell yo’ he nachally lyin’. Tink Cindy 
don’t know quality folks? Gw ’on niger, gw ’on en git in yo’ 
wood. En yo’ fergit dem white trash.” 

But Sancho did not go to the wood pile. Instead he wan- 
dered on through the house to where Mrs. Courtney was 
industriously knitting socks for American soldiers, while her 
mind wandered back to a like labor of love in the sixties, when 
brother fought against brother and friend against friend. 

“Miss Mary,” said Sancho, “does yo’ b’l’ve a silver bullet’ll 
kill er speerit?” 

“Why, Sancho, I have heard something of the kind, but I 
hardly think it is true. I hope the spirits are not bothering 
you,” laughed Mrs. Courtney. 

“No’m, not zackly. But some mens, dey stole ole honey, en 
I’se des er wonderin’.” 

“I’m sorry you have lost your cane, Sancho,” condoled Mrs. 
Courtney. 

“I’se done foun’ her. Mum, but I’se des awunderin’ if dey’s 
done tuck en put er speerit in her.” 

But no assurance from Mrs. Courtney relieved Sancho’s 
mind. Entering his cottage, he cautiously looked in every cor- 
ner as if expecting to see some evil spirit rise before him. 

“I don’ likes dat!” said he, seated before the fire, his head 
resting in his hands. “I sho’ don’ likes dat. I’se been er 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


211 


totin’ ole honey er long time, en I don’ wants no hoodoo put 
on her now des when I needs her. Guess I’ll des grease ole 
’liable up en put dat silver bullet in her.” 

Putting fresh logs on to have a cheery fire when “Marse 
Dave” arrived, and explaining to Cindy that he had to go 
“som’ers,” as dark came, he crept noiselessly down the walk, and 
throwing a thick blanket on the ground behind the hedge oppo- 
site to where the cane was hidden, he began his vigil. As the 
wind swept through the leafless trees rendering its doleful sound, 
Sancho shuddered. It seemed as if the air was filled with weep- 
ing spirits, and once when a tuft of snow, shaken from an over- 
hanging limb fell near where the cane was hidden, he jumped 
to his feet. Hearing voices, he concealed himself just as two 
men entered the walk. For a moment they looked about them, 
then crossing the hedge, secreted themselves by the cane. Sancho 
had grown numb with cold, but now his heart was rushing the 
blood through his veins with such rapidity that perspiration 
broke out on his forehead, while the pounding in his ears 
seemed sufficient to betray his presence. Only once did either 
of his neighbors speak. 

“It’s time.” And he recognized Blinky’s voice, at the same 
time hearing the scraping of “ole honey,” against the bushes 
as the cane was drawn out. The wind had died down and the 
stillness hurt Sancho’s ears. A pedestrian passed, crunching 
through the snow, and again all was quiet. Suddenly he caught 
the sound of a purring whistle, low, but unmistakable. And 
Sancho was troubled. He knew he should be in the house 
when his employer arrived, to take his coat, bring his slippers 
and smoking jacket and to place the steaming supper upon the 
table, and serve. And Sancho’s record of punctuality was one 
which he did not consider lightly. That there was danger for 
Mr. Courtney did not occur to his simple mind, and once he 
made a move to slip quietly away to his duties, when concern 
for his cane caused him to stop. 

As Courtney came nearer, in the firm tread of his long 
swinging gait there was evidence of his recent victory. For two 


212 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


days he had fought for justice as he had never fought before. 
He believed that he was not only battling for retributive justice 
for the murderer of Batty Spillman, but justice for American 
childhood. During the submission of testimony, he had care- 
fully laid the foundation for his great argument, and he had 
made the speech of his life. He had charged Alcohol as chief 
criminal against the human race; he had charged Schwartzberg 
with greed that impoverished and brutalized man, brought dis- 
grace and tears to woman, and robbed childhood of its due, 
and when hindered in his purpose committed murder. While 
he had waited the ten minutes it took for the jury to write its 
verdict of “guilty!” he had been thrilled by a telegram from 
Washington which Dr. Morrison had shown him announcing 
the passage of the amendment to the constitution prohibiting the 
manufacture and sale of alcoholic beverages. In reporting his 
speech. The Intelligencer prophesied that it would make him 
governor of the state, while other evening papers, though hostile, 
admitted the possibility of his political future. 

For an hour he had stood before the court house unable to 
proceed, acknowledging the gratitude and congratulation of the 
thousands who had gathered to shake his hand. As he turned 
to enter his home where the congratulations of his aged mother 
awaited him, the thrill of victory was still upon him. 

When the two men failed to come from their hiding and 
greet Courtney, as Sancho expected, he was beginning to wonder 
how they proposed to effect their surprise, when suddenly as he 
passed up the walk they leaped across the hedge. Sancho saw 
his cane, “old honey,” flash high in the air with Red in the act of 
bringing it down with a mighty swing on Courtney’s head. The 
old butler suddenly pushed the long barrel of his ante-bellum 
musket into the assassin’s face. 

“Drap ole honey!” he roared. And as the stick fell to the 
ground, he commanded, “Hist yo’ paws, white folks. Uh-hu! 
Stole ole honey, did you’? En she cotch yo’!” he gloated as 
Courtney relieved the would-be assassins of their weapons. 

“Great job, Sancho,” said Courtney, appreciatively. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


213 


“Marse Dave, I swar to Gawd, less’n I gits my deesposition 
onder control mighty quick, dey’s gwin be two dead white 
trash ’bout hea! Ole ’liable, she sho’ want ter bark.” 

When their prisoners were safely in the hands of officers of 
the law and Mr. Courtney grasped Sancho’s hand in warm 
appreciation of his timely interference, the old butler looked 
troubled. 

“Why, what’s troubling you, Sancho?” asked Mr. Court- 
ney. 

“Marse Dave,” he begged, “don’ let Cindy be a pesterin’ 
er me ’bout dem po’ white trash. How’d I know dey was 
nachal horned liars?” 


214 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


CHAPTER XXXIV 

A LIFE THAT FAILED 

^^Amid my list of blessings infinite 
Stands this the foremost: 'That my heart has bledf 

D uring the rapid succession of these events, Courtney 
might perhaps have been but human had he paused 
in reflective inaction. He had seen consummated in 
weeks that for which other men had labored lifetimes. He had, 
within forty-eight hours, hammered out under the white heat of 
grim determination, powerful logic and the persuasion of elo- 
quence, justice in Brewerton, a thing lor which men and women 
had striven and prayed for decades. He had, in that beer-be- 
sotted city, permeated with every vice bred by greed, and in 
which crime lifted its hydra-head in shameless arrogance, re- 
habilitated justice in her rightful robes of respect. But his task 
was unfinished. 

Upon the evening of the attack upon Courtney, he and his 
friend, Dr. Morrison, sat late in meditative converse. But they 
did not permit themselves to be deceived. They were conscious 
that only the foundation had been laid whereon true liberty 
must be builded. They knew that the constitutional amend- 
ment was but the proclamation of emancipation — that it was 
the first great starting point in our national history, toward 
political, physical, social, and moral freedom. They were not 
unconscious of the patient years of toil ahead in the rehabilita- 
tion of these functions of society to which their lives were 
unchangeably committed. 

Courtney found Mr. Roebstock awaiting his arrival at his 
office on the following morning. If it had been that he had 
succeeded for the moment in forgetting the present, the lace 
of the mine operator would have reminded him that, in Brewer- 
ton, Alcohol was still king. The months had dealt savagely 
with Mr. Roebstock. Though this was the maturing date of 
his indebtedness to Philip Dornham, he had in contemplative 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


215 




agony lived it through a hundred times and he was calm. 
Further than that he would employ every legal means of stay- 
ing forfeiture, David could give his client no assurance. As the 
bent and trembling old man, foiled in his ambition to serve his 
country, and now upon the brink of financial ruin, passed out, 
he pitied him. 

Consulting his watch, he observed that it was nearing the 
hour of his appointment with Captain Saterlee, and while he 
waited he walked to the window where he stood reflectively 
looking out over the city. To the North, great swirling waves 
of snow were wrapping the earth in a fresh mantle enforcing 
upon him memories of a day when life and its issues had chosen 
for him a new and rugged path. 

“But, I would not change it!” he mused. 

Absorbed in his thoughts, he had not heard the entrance of 
the office boy who stood close, holding out a caller’s card. 

“I say, sir; Mr. Courtney, here’s a card!” 

“O! Why, William,” he laughed, “they are not sufficiently 
numerous these days to be neglected — ^Why, Colonel Barbee!” 
he exclaimed joyously, greeting the banker. “This is a happy 
surprise!” 

“Just on my way to New Orleans for a few weeks’ rest,” 
exclaimed the Colonel, “and concluded I would stop off and 
take a look at you.” 

“Mother will be delighted. I hope Mrs. Barbee is with 
you. 

“She and your mother are now talking over old times.” 

“Great!” exclaimed Courtney. “Mother misses the old — ” 

“Captain Saterlee,” interrupted the office boy, “says he must 
see you at once.” 

“Show the gentleman in, son,” Colonel Barbee directed. 
“Business precedes pleasure.” 

“For only a few minutes. Colonel. Captain Saterlee is a 
minute man,” Courtney apologized, introducing the gentlemen 
as they passed. 


216 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


For some minutes after the captain retired, Courtney sat 
in profound study. When he rose, resolve was written in his 
face. 

“God help me; I’ll bend his will or break his power,” he 
said. 

Making his apologies to Colonel Barbee, he was leaving the 
room when the Colonel stopped him. 

“What arrangement did you make for your client, Mr. 
Roebstock?” he asked. 

“None, sir. His obligation to Dornham is due today.” 

“Sit down just a moment, Dave,” said he. “I think I told 
you I had never had the courage to antagonize the liquor inter- 
est. Until yesterday afternoon I did not realize what that ac- 
knowledgment meant. Old as I am, yesterday morning I would 
have struck a man if he had intimated that I was a coward. But 
on the train I bought an afternoon paper — The Intelligencer. 
I read your speech and I was told by a man of whom I inquired 
the meaning of the blank spaces in the paper. I’m a coward, 
Dave!” 

The old man dropped his head in shame, shaking it sadly. 

“All my life,” he continued, “I have witnessed Alcohol’s 
oppression in business and its brazenness in politics. I have 
seen it send some of my dearest friends down to their graves in 
poverty and shame. I have watched some of the most brilliant 
minds of my acquaintance grow dull and sensual under its in- 
fluence. I have seen women’s hearts wrung with sorrow, and 
children deprived of all that childhood loves. And I have 
never raised my hand or voice in protest. I was a coward! I 
had not planned to stop here, but when I read your great speech 
yesterday afternoon I changed my plans, hoping it was not too 
late to be of service to you.” 

“You do yourself an injustice. Colonel,” said Courtney, 
touched by the old man’s emotion. “Society — the public con- 
science — under our system of government as relates to alcohol 
has been deceived — misled into the belief that alcohol was 
remedial. When that was exploded, it was taught to believe 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


217 


that, if an evil, it was an evil to be controlled — not abolished. 
While the world has been growing to it slowly, it has been this 
horrible war with its demand for human efficiency which has 
suddenly awakened civilization to the appalling fact that it is 
destroying itself.” 

“Perhaps you are right; I have only drifted with the 
crowd,” Colonel Barbee consoled himself. 

“But from today,” said Courtney, “no man of intelligence 
who loves his country or possesses a normal interest in his fel- 
lows will have excuse for defending Alcohol. It has been tried 
in the greatest tribunal of human justice and adjudged guilty, 
Congress has decreed its death, and the states will execute it.” 

“But the law will be violated,” deplored Colonel Barbee. 

“Very true,” agreed Courtney. “It would be against the 
immutable law of cause and effect to expect a people educated 
for centuries in custom and debauched in unnatural appetite 
transmitted from generation to generation, to be either willing 
or able suddenly to reverse itself. And it would be only a 
Utopian dream to expect greed willingly to submit to any cur- 
tailment of its profits or power. It will mean years of patient, 
helpful forbearance for the one, and the powerful scourge of the 
law for the other. But today government in America starts a 
new culture of its most glorious principle — government for the 
people !” 

“Well,” said Colonel Barbee, “I wish to dedicate my few 
remaining years to its cause. I am glad I am not too late to 
save Mr. Roebstock from further oppression. Bring me Dorn- 
ham’s evidence of indebtedness.” 

“Do you mean that. Colonel?” exclaimed David, grasping 
the Colonel’s hand as he held out the signed check. 

“I mean it,” said Colonel Barbee. “I’m only sorry it was 
not done when you first asked it.” 

“I am sorry Mr. Roebstock is not here. I’ll bring him when 
I return,” said Courtney, still clinging to the Colonel’s hand. 


218 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


Before leaving he walked to his desk and took from it 
some papers; sheets covered with many figures and placed them 
in his pocket. 

As he entered the office of Mr. Dornham, the banker’s back 
was toward the door. To Courtney’s greeting, he slowly 
turned, his eyes narrowed, and his hands gradually contracted 
into fists. 

“Well! You’ve come, have you?” 

“Yes, I’ve come, Mr. Dornham,” said Courtney. 

“I told you I’d bring you to your knees. You didn’t know 
Philip Dornham! Well, you do now!” he hissed. 

“Yes, I think I do,” said Courtney. 

“And I hope you are ready to be sensible.” 

“I think I am, Mr. Dornham.” 

“Well then, what is it?” 

“Mr. Roebstock’s indebtedness is due today I believe — ” 

“And I presume you want to pay it!” he sneered. 

“Well,” said Courtney after a moment’s hesitation, “I did 
come prepared to do so. But I have decided I will not.” 

“Then what the devil do you want?” he demanded. 

“Several things, Mr. Dornham,” he replied deliberately. 
“Perhaps you can remember them without writing them down.” 

“I want no foolishness in this office!” the banker warned. 

“I assure you sir, I was never more serious. First, I want 
you to cancel without consideration Mr. Roebstock’s obliga- 
tion.” 

“Like hell, you’ll get it!” 

“Second, I have here a statement of the loss in advertising 
to Ben Walton of The Intelligencer which you have caused. 
You will pay that.” 

“Ah! Your game is blackmail, is it?” he roared. 

“That’s an ugly word, Mr. Dornham; don’t use it!” said 
Courtney, warningly. 

“Now get out of my office!” ordered Mr. Dornham, opening 
a drawer in which lay a shining revolver. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


219 


“Leave that there!” commanded Courtney, stepping closer 
to the banker. “Your expert, hired assassins failed at that last 
night. Now listen to me; Two of your associates in crime 
are in trouble — Magully and Samuels are in jail, charged 
among other things, with conspiracy to incite riot and obstruct 
the government in its preparation for war.” 

“You lie!” 

The words were fairly screamed, his face grew purple and 
clasping his hand to his side, his body swayed. 

“I don’t know,” continued Courtney, heedless of his epi- 
thet, “to what extent, you, are involved in their crimes. But 
I imagine you know who closed Mr. Roebstock’s mines and 
made the white spots in Walton’s paper. I am making no 
threat; I am holding out no inducement. I am only giving you 
the opportunity of making partial reparation.” 

“Who told you Samuels was — ” And the words died in 
horror upon his lips. The color was leaving his face and he 
sank weakly into his chair. 

“One other thing, Mr. Dornham,” continued Courtney, 
and for the first time, the ring of anger was in his voice. “This 
evening at eight o’clock I will call at your home to receive 
your approval of Helen’s marriage. You will explain to her 
by whatever falsehood your imagination may devise, that you 
were mistaken about the creations with which you deceived her. 
But do not admit that you wilfully lied; I have protected her 
from the humiliation of knowing — ” 

There was a slight tapping at the door, the knob turned, 
and Helen entered. For a moment she stood bewildered, then 
turned to leave. 

“Helen!” 

It was Courtney who called, and instantly he was at her 
side. Trembling, she swayed as if her strength was gone, and he 
caught her to his bosom. 

“Helen, my darling!” he whispered. 


220 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


There was no struggle. Her head sank upon his breast and 
she sighed. 

“O, Dave!” 

“I think you had something you intended to say to Helen 
this evening, Mr. Dornham,” said Courtney, leading her toward 
her father. “Perhaps you would prefer to say it now.” 

Mr. Dornham had been stupidly motionless. Looking at 
Courtney helplessly, he tottered to his feet. 

“I — I was mistaken. I — I did not understand. It’s all 
right — it’s all right, Helen.” 

“Dave, is it true? Is it — can it be true? O, Dave!” 

“It is true, my sweetheart, my love, my life!” said he, fer- 
vently, kissing her upturned lips. 

“Dear Dad, you have made me so happy!” exclaimed Helen, 
covering his blanched face with kisses. 

As Courtney led Helen from the room he stopped. 

“I will return for the papers, Mr. Dornham,” he said. 

An hour later he met Captain Saterlee with an officer of 
the secret service at Mr. Dornham’s door. To his inquiry he 
learned that Samuels, when arrested, had broken down as he 
heard behind the retiring guard the click of the lock which sep- 
arated him from liberty, weeping bitterly and offering to di- 
vulge all he knew. 

“I have a warrant for the arrest of Philip Dornham,” said 
the captain. 

Receiving no response to their rap, they entered together. 

Philip Dornham was seated at his desk, his head bowed upon 
his breast. In his hand was clenched a crumpled paper, old and 
yellowed. As they slipped it from his stiffening fingers the 
ink was fresh upon it where he had written, 

“Paid.” 

But Helen never knew. 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


221 


CHAPTER XXXV 

AFTER-YEARS 

^'Hast thou not learned what thou art often told, 

A truth still sacred, and believed of old. 

That no success attends on spears and swords 
TJnblest, and that the battle is the Lord’s?"^ 

I T WAS afternoon f)n a day in May when the ratified reso- 
lution amending the federal constitution prohibiting the 
manufacture and sale of alcoholic beverages was presented to 
Governor Courtney by a committee from his General Assembly. 
It was the culmination of years — glorious years, as he now looked 
back upon them — of conflict, toil and prayer. He was not uncon- 
scious of the years of patient toil ahead ; he did not deceive him- 
self in believing that all men would willingly and quickly aban- 
don that which gave them power ; he did not hope to transform 
the physical and mental degeneration of men in a day: — he re- 
joiced that the onward march of civilization could now be un- 
dertaken in co-operation with national and state governments, 
not with them antagonistic to it. For a moment he studied the 
document reflectively silent, then laying it upon his desk, he 
breathed a deep satisfied sigh of relief. Tired he was, but tri- 
umphant. 

“Thank God!” he exclaimed, as he received the congratu- 
lations of Dr. Morrison and Ben Walton and felt the support- 
ing arm of his wife slip round his neck. “If I could not be the 
first, I am, by His grace, governor of the last of the thirty-six 
states necessary to ratify and effectuate the new birth of 
American Independence from Alcohol.” 

And counting it a day’s work well done, with his little son, 
Robert Morrison Courtney, and Mrs. Helen Courtney, he 
drove far into the country. 

Following the prattling child, they gathered garlands of 
wild flowers from the woods, nodding daisies from the meadows 
and spring violets from the roadside, and returning they 
entered the City of Memories. 


222 


THE RIGHTS OF A MAN 


Perhaps to those who have never wept, it is a strange incon- 
gruity that laughing flowers should screen from view the ghastly 
scar we call a grave. Not so to those who travel to the City of 
Memories. Over three graves guarded by massive hewn 
granite, Helen lovingly strewed the garlands of honeysuckle and 
dogwood. 

Then ascending a little knoll they came to a grave marked 
by a simple slab of white marble upon which was chiseled : 

Batty, 

The Sandwich Boy. 

A Martyr 
To 

Childhood. 

And as the sun kindled in the dome of the heavens the fires 
of his departing splendor. Governor Courtney laid upon the 
bosom of the sleeper a bunch of white daisies and purple violets ; 
then taking his little son upon his knee he told him the story 
of a boy who helped make America free. 

“Look!” cried Helen, as the growing shadows began to 
paint out the colors in the sky. “They disappear ; but the beauty 
and the power of such a life must live forever.” 


THE END 






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